


volition

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Bottom Kylo Ren, Denial of Feelings, Hux is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, M/M, Seduction, Sexting, Snoke Being a Dick, Top Hux, Virgin Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7492356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Kylo Ren,” Hux says, feeling humiliated as the words leave his mouth, “is not</i> infatuated <i>with me—”</i></p><p>  <i>“My apprentice is easily led,” Snoke continues, as if Hux hasn’t spoken. “He is driven by impulse, emotion. These fixations are distractions to his true path, and they are things I will break in him, when he is ready. In the meantime…” He waves a knotted, spider-veined hand toward Hux, as if in dismissal. “You will assist me, in sating his desires.”</i></p><p>...</p><p>pre-tfa. hux is issued orders to seduce kylo ren. chaos ensues.</p><p>this fic is the 6th installment in a collection of separate, stand-alone kylux fics. each work has been inspired by a different song. original posts + prompts can be found at my tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

[and i'm talkin' to myself at night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKJVZQrhmJc)  
[ because I can't forget](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKJVZQrhmJc)  
[ back and forth through my mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKJVZQrhmJc)  
[ behind a cigarette](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKJVZQrhmJc)

 

 

...

 

 

Kylo Ren is in his way again.

 

The Knight is a headache, a great big mess of energy that Hux doesn’t quite understand, and doesn’t exactly care to. He hadn’t planned on this, on sharing power— the Supreme Leader hadn’t spoken of a co-commander when he’d offered him the position. He hadn’t prepared Hux for this Force-magic, either, or his cult of oddities. And he had certainly never mentioned Ren, serving as Hux’s equal despite— _everything._ His horrid temper, his disgusting habits, his disregard for regulation.

 

And now _this._

 

This strange pattern he’s fallen into, of intercepting Hux mid-route, without rhyme or reason.

 

It has become a daily routine: Ren scouting him out, ambushing him the moment he turns from the bridge. Sweeping into his path and simply _staring._ Waiting. Eyes and intentions hidden, always, under his ugly behemoth of a mask— a ridiculous thing. Hux has never seen him without it. Whatever Ren is or is not, he must be quite hideous, for him to constantly hide beneath the helmet the way he does.

 

Today the Knight has planted himself in the middle of Sector 4D’s corridor. Standing between Hux and his destination, uncomfortably close. The rasp of his breath is audible, distorted from behind the vocoder.

 

Hux stares up haughtily into the metallic blank features. “Ren,” he says, annoyed when he shows no signs of moving. _“Ren,”_ he says again, when his first attempt yields nothing but silence. “Let me pass, I have somewhere to be.”

 

“Yes,” says Ren. The word crackles. “A meeting. With the Supreme Leader. I know of it. Although why he has asked for you remains a mystery to me.”

 

He looms ever closer; Hux steels himself. He’s not afraid of Ren— how could he be? The Knight is outrageously melodramatic, a spoiled monstrosity. He’s hardly threatening, leaning over Hux with his head cocked to the side, mere inches away. Like he’s trying to pick up a scent, Hux thinks, wondering, not for the first time, what kind of creature he would find underneath Ren’s mask, under those dark robes. Some bizarre animal, surely.

 

Ren huffs slightly, the sound grating mechanically. “You don’t think I’m human?”

 

“I think,” Hux snaps, fighting the urge to shove him away, “that you’ll make me late, if you attempt to stall me any longer. And I think you’ve yet to learn the concept of privacy— you wouldn’t want me in _your_ head, would you?”

 

“No,” says Ren. His tone is impossible to gauge.

 

“Then stay out of mine.” Hux smooths down his greatcoat, tugging at invisible wrinkles as he side-steps the Knight. “Good day.”

 

Ren catches Hux’s arm as he passes, gloved hand tight around his thin bicep. “Hux,” he says, before Hux’s anger and indignation can spill over into words; his voice, even grating from the vocoder, is quieter than Hux has ever heard it. “You. Intrigue me. That’s all.”

 

Hux rips his arm free, pulse spiking in his throat, teeth bared in wordless warning.

 

Ren does not reach for him again.

 

 

…

 

 

  
Hux arrives still flustered and set on edge. Snoke’s hologram is already projected up onto his throne.

 

“Apologies for my lateness, Supreme Leader,” he manages to bite out, bowing. “I would have arrived sooner, if it was not for— well. I was— delayed.”

 

“By my apprentice.”

 

His intonation does not appear to be phrased as a question but its directness throws Hux for a bit of a loop, and he finds himself searching for words, unsure of how to proceed. “Yes,” he says, at last. “It may not be my place to say more—”

 

Snoke inclines his head in invitation, and Hux’s frustrations get the better of him.

 

“He is unreasonable,” he finds himself blurting, “crude-mannered— Master of his Knights or not, he is a terror to my crew and gives no thought for the Order’s safety, or sanity. He has taken to prying into my mind and cannot seem to restrain himself from meddling in my affairs— I cannot move through my own ship without him trailing after me like a dog, interfering with my schedule, wasting my time. I should not be required to tolerate this, _him!_ I may find it difficult to continue to.”

 

Silence hangs heavy through the room, when he has finished speaking his mind; the echoes of his words ringing faintly back at him. For a moment he is afraid he has gone too far, said too much.

 

But then Snoke smiles, close-lipped and ghastly.

 

“Good, General,” he says. “This is the very matter I’ve called you here to discuss.”  

 

“I’d be grateful for your counsel on the subject,” replies Hux, pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t thought that Ren’s skulking incivility would draw Snoke’s concern.

 

“I’m afraid my apprentice is prone to partiality,” Snoke says. “He has been known to form emotional attachments to various objects and items in this way— the helmet of his late grandfather, for instance. And the kyber crystal of his saber, even with its fractures, is a piece he refuses to replace.”

 

The Supreme Leader shifts, hunching forward; the movement reminds Hux of the Knight. It would be very like Ren, to adopt the same mannerisms of his Master. The same tilt of his head, curious, analytical. He imagines Ren as a gangly marionette, dangled from Snoke’s slim, knob-knuckled fingers, and feels a thin wave of disgust rise in him. _Pathetic._

 

“Kylo Ren is not easily turned from his obsessions,” Snoke observes, that terrible smile touching the corners of his mouth once again. “You, General, are the first living thing to acquire his infatuation, but I have foreseen that this process will run an identical course: he will pursue you until he loses interest. And you will entertain him during this process, and indulge his whims.”

 

Hux feels every drop of blood in his body drain to his feet.

 

“No,” he says, automatically, forgetting himself entirely, and who he is talking to, and loyalty and respect and due order. “No, you— you must be joking.”

 

The Supreme Leader drums light, spindly fingers against his armrest— in thought, or warning, Hux can’t tell. “General,” he says, smoothly. “I would not dream of wasting your time. I’d advise you not to waste mine.”

 

He flushes. Squares his shoulders, presses his fist into his palm behind his back. “Kylo Ren,” Hux says, feeling humiliated as the words leave his mouth, “is not _infatuated_ with me—”

 

“My apprentice is easily led,” Snoke continues, as if Hux hasn’t spoken. “He is driven by impulse, emotion. These fixations are distractions to his true path, and they are things I will break in him, when he is ready. In the meantime…” He waves a knotted, spider-veined hand toward Hux, as if in dismissal. “You will assist me, in sating his desires.”

 

Perhaps, if Hux was a less cautious man, a man with less clinical thought, and more backbone—

 

Perhaps if Hux was of the same breed as Ren.

 

But he is not.

 

And he values his skin, his life, his work and position, more than he values his pride.

 

“You will do as I have commanded,” Snoke says, eyes glinting.

 

“Of course, Supreme Leader,” Hux answers, between gritted teeth, nails breaking the soft skin of his palm. “It will be as you say.”

 

 

…

 

 

  
He has a meeting, 0200 hours later.

 

Conference room 7B. An officer is giving a report on viable planets for his proposed weapon. The presentation is well-done and the choices are viable; the meeting goes well. 

 

Or well enough, he supposes. He actually doesn’t remember most of it.

 

Snoke has gone mad. Or maybe he has. Maybe the orders he was issued were tricks of the Force, a hysterical half-delusion planted in Hux’s mind. Maybe he had dreamed it— 

 

Maybe it’s a trick of _Ren’s._ Perhaps it is Ren, manipulating his mind, installing this repugnant fantasy into his head in an attempt to weaken his grip, to take control of the Order for himself. He can imagine the Knight now, broad-shouldered and ever-looming, kneeling in front of Snoke’s throne saying _there, look, do you see now, the weakness in him, how easily swayed, how useless—_

 

Hux stops himself there, firmly, exhaling slowly through his nose.

 

His orders are authentic. The mission came directly from the Supreme Leader, and Hux is overthinking this, taking this apart to the bone. Letting his emotions rule over his resolve.

 

He’s acting like _Ren._

 

If what Snoke says is true, if he has, indeed, become a distraction…

 

Then it will be simple. Sex is easy, no large matter. He’ll take Ren to bed, permit him to get it out of his system. The so-called infatuation will pass the way Snoke has foreseen, and Ren will be all the stronger for it.

 

If Hux wants Ren to be useful to him— to the Order— this must be his course of action.

 

The ordeal will be over, he thinks, by the end of this week’s cycle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hux touches ren’s butt; consequently, ren falls in love

 

The Supreme Leader assures Hux, in a second private meeting the next morning, that any thoughts of their scheme within Hux's mind will be well hidden from his apprentice.

 

“I will oversee its concealment myself,” he clarifies. “Your thoughts will be open to him, as they always have been. But your objectives, your motive behind those thoughts, will be obscured.”

 

Hux thinks of the interrogations Ren is so partial to, his method of shredding through their hostages’ unwilling consciousness. “And if he presses?”

 

"He is fond of you, General." Snoke’s mouth curls. “He will not.”

 

Hux supposes he’ll have to admit, now, that Snoke’s bizarre magic is useful for something— although in truth, it hardly matters to him if Ren discovers the truth behind his intentions. The Knight is seeking a satisfactory fuck. Why Hux is willing to supply one shouldn’t be of any concern.

 

Not that Hux considers himself _willing,_ exactly.

 

He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, on the way out of Snoke’s conference chamber, already exhausted. This exchange— trading sex for control, pleasure for power— is not foreign to him. He’s had similar dealings in the past, nothing this elaborate, of course, but he’s been known to do a few favors, to get what he wants.

 

Whether the invitation had come from him or not, the commanding officers he’d propositioned at the time had always been high-handed and self-assured— as though seeking this out meant his shame, as though his shame meant silence and the guarantee of inferiority. They hadn’t understood that there was little humiliation tied to the act, for him. A cock in his mouth, a few trousers worn at the knees— those things had been nothing but details in the face of whatever it was he’d been promised in return.

 

And besides, Hux had _liked_ it. The intoxication of authority he found between someone’s legs, the play of power that went along with holding someone’s dick between his teeth. His shamelessness had been incomprehensible to those he’d approached, even years later, as he’d crushed them beneath the merciless heel of his rise to the top.

 

It’s because it’s Ren, he decides, tapping into the console of his rooms. That’s what he can’t seem to wrap his head around, this time. Anyone else and he wouldn’t have flinched, but _Ren?_

He can’t imagine what it would even _be_ like—

 

Can’t he?

 

He pauses, hanging up his jacket, a stir of curious excitement coiling in the bottom of his stomach. If he’s going to do this…well.

 

_It can’t hurt to wonder._

The likelihood that Ren has had experience of any sort is a hundred-to-one; Snoke had all but raised him, and Hux cannot believe that the Supreme Leader has ever pandered to Ren’s sexual desires before. But he’d be rough, no doubt; Hux can’t envision him another way. His breath would crackle and blur behind the vocoder, just watching Hux go to his knees. In his mind’s eye, Hux is unable to procure any image of what Ren could possibly look like— he’d keep his helmet on, then, as Hux slid his hands around his robes to grasp at his hips, and drew the head of his cock past his lips. And his fingers would find purchase in Hux’s hair, and twist and pull every time Hux swallowed around him, or moaned, he’d come undone almost instantly, growling out curses, thrusting down past Hux’s throat, fucking into Hux’s mouth—

 

_This is assuming that he’s human, of course._

 

The treacherous, heavy heat in his groin withers, slowly, and dies.

 

Hux curses weakly, sags against the wall, wipes the sweat that’s gathered on the palms of his hands onto his thighs, and hopes to hell and back that he won’t have to learn the sexual anatomy of a kriffing Klatooinian, just to get his co-commander off.

 

 

…

Conference room 7B hosts another meeting that afternoon. Hux stays long after the rest of his officers have filed out, palms braced over the table and its scattered blueprints, weighing his options.

 

Working with a Master of the Knights of Ren is one thing. Dealing with his messes, his tantrums, the shattered consoles and terrified lieutenants.

 

 _Seducing_ a Master of the Knights of Ren is something else entirely, and he isn’t exactly sure where to start.

 

The scheduling of this thing will be crucial— certainly the sooner he manages to get himself out of the Knight’s system, the better; he wants the matter done with and settled before they begin the construction of Starkiller. He does not have the time or the capacity to play escort for too long. He needs something simple, and efficient— something that will get them straight to the point, without room for debate. Something to suit the bullheaded one-track mind Ren sports _. Look,_ he’ll say, _Ren, I’ve seen the way you look at me—_

Although he hasn’t, really, has he? He’s never seen anything past the shielded grate of that ugly helmet. _Ren,_ he rephrases, feeling ridiculous, _it’s come to my attention that you’re in need of a good lay. Ren—_

“General,” says Ren, directly behind him, and Hux does a commendable job of not jumping straight out of his skin.

 

“What,” he snaps, when his breath comes back to him— then, remembering that he’s supposed to be _amiable_ at the very least, “what is it?”

 

Ren stands motionless, his hands folded tight behind his back. His visor is cold and void. “I need to speak to you.”

 

“Yes, fine, go ahead, then.”

 

The Knight pauses, an unsettlingly long stretch of silence; Hux fights to keep from fidgeting. When he speaks at last, it is in sharp sounds, a grainy burst: “I just,” he says, his words coming, as they always do, in rapid, unsteady flares. “I _am _—__ human. I thought _ _—__ you should know.”

 

“Oh.” Hux blinks back his surprise. While the confirmation does put to rest some of his fears— the timing simply feels strange. Oddly purposeful. “Right.”

 

There’s another eruption of static: Ren clearing his throat, maybe. “Just. In case you were wondering.”

 

“Well— all right. Thank you, for that.”

 

The Knight nods, once, and shuffles a bit, hands coming unclasped at his sides, fingers flexing. “I’ll see you on the bridge.”

 

It dawns on him slowly, a sneaking suspicion as the Knight attempts to awkwardly scuttle away, one that should, for all intents and purposes, enrage him, but that doesn’t, curiously enough: “Ren,” he says, turning to pose the question over his shoulder, “you wouldn’t happen to know about certain thoughts that were in my head this morning, would you?”

 

The Knight freezes, mid-stride. “No,” he says. Too quickly— and Hux is already imagining Ren rifling through his mind and finding, instead of whatever it was he was looking for, a reverie of Hux taking his cock to his throat.

 

“They were meant to be private," Hux continues, feeding off of the panicked, rapid way Ren's chest rises and falls, "although I admit, I _am_ interested in whether or not you were an active spectator of their broadcast—”

 

“I didn’t mean to,” Ren blurts, sounding strangled. “I didn’t, I mean—” He surges away, robes churning around him, and heads for the nearest door— which would be a good strategy for retreat, if the door led to anything but a janitorial closet. Hux watches him fumble past the lock, startling back when all he finds are loose wires and mouse droids; it’s almost endearing, really, he thinks. _Almost._

 

“I have a few rather expensive bottles of wine I’ve been meaning to uncork for days now,” Hux says, as if nothing is amiss, picking invisible lint from his sleeve as Ren punches the door shut again, his shoulders quaking with humiliation. “Toniray, pressed on the vineyards of the late planet of Alderaan— purchased from a crate of the last existing bottles. If you’d like, we could open them together.”

 

“I don’t drink,” says Ren, backing away— toward the actual exit this time.

 

Hux has never, in his life, witnessed a man of Ren’s size and bulk _flee_ before.

 

There is, truly, a first time for everything.

 

 

…

 

 

2330: HUX >> _I’m opening that Toniray now_

2338: HUX >> _I’m sure it would be more enjoyable if there was someone here for me to share it with_

2345: HUX >> _That was your second formal invitation to my quarters, in case you were wondering_

2350: HUX >> _Ren, I can see that you’re receiving and reading these, that’s how this platform works. You might as well respond_

 

2351: REN >> _told u i dont drink_

2351: HUX >> _Stop by for a half hour, at least. A glass or two couldn’t hurt_

 

2352: REN >> _it rlly could_

2352: HUX >> _Don’t be melodramatic_

 

2353: REN >> _why_

 

2353: HUX >> _Why shouldn’t you be melodramatic?_

2354: REN >> _no i mean_

2355: REN >> _why arent u angry_

2355: HUX >> _Why would I be?_

2355: HUX >> _Oh, of course— because you were in my head this morning?_

2356: HUX >> _I do hate when you pry_

2356: HUX >> _But you're right, I'm not angry_

2356: HUX >> _It’ll be much easier this way_

2357: REN >>  _what will_

2358: HUX >> _You’re clever enough, aren’t you, Ren?_

2358: HUX >> _I’m sure you’ll figure it out_

 

 

…

 

 

Flirting with Ren is a bit like flirting with a durasteel wall; Hux learns this the hard way. There are only so many physical, bodily compliments you can give a man who envelops himself inside of a tent of robes, head-to-toe, every day.

 

But he has found— fairly quickly, too— that the alternatives that exist are far more effective.

 

Over the course of the next few days, he passes their time on the bridge together with small, passing experiments: building intimate scenes in his head, wondering, with faux naivety, whether Ren would be loud in bed, what his cock would look like, how big it’d be— _oh, it’s bound to be big, isn’t it, I bet he’s enormous—_

  
Gauging Ren’s reaction is the difficult part. Searching for the near-miniscule way he flinches, when Hux flings out a thought too eagerly, or how his grip on the bridge rail tightens, when Hux calls up memories of his earlier days in the Order: casual— and slightly exaggerated— daydreams of the sexual favors he’s traded.

 

Those last fantasies, interestingly enough, are what seem to get the most evident rise out of Ren.

 

“What were you like,” the Knight asks unexpectedly, one long hour after Hux has recalled, in exquisite detail, a particularly good evening he'd had with an esteemed officer fifteen years his senior. “When you were younger.”

 

“Stubborn,” answers Hux, thoughtfully, taking a long drag on his cigarette. He doesn’t usually smoke in front of his crew— he’s always thought it made him look self-righteous— but he has a feeling that the smoke trickling out of the corner of his mouth leaves a strong impression on Ren. “And eager—” He blows smoke; Ren’s mask pivots immediately toward him, “to prove my worth, I suppose. My father always expected me to surpass him in rank, to achieve great things. I lived with that weight since I was very young.”

 

“I was expected to achieve great things, too,” says Ren. He turns his head, staring back out over the bridge, but still Hux has the unsettling feeling of being watched. “I hated it. I hated— everyone.”

 

Hux chuckles, tapping out ashes. “We would have gotten along splendidly.”

 

“Yes,” replies Ren, fumbling, eager, “yes, I— I also think so.”

 

Hux draws out the last puffs of his cigarette, and grinds it out on the metal rail. “You know,” he says, as if it has just occurred to him now, “when I was younger, I was a man who never denied himself the things he wanted.”

 

He steps closer, their shoulders aligning; Ren stiffens as their arms brush. The dull polish of his mask swivels to meet Hux’s gaze.

 

“I’ve often wondered what it would be like,” Hux adds, dropping his voice low, “to become that man again.”

 

There is no reaction. Or there appears to be none. The mask makes it impossible to measure any potential expression. Hux waits, and Ren stands there, and stares, and says nothing— so Hux reaches out, and slides his hand over the small of Ren’s back.

 

And then slides a little lower.

 

The touch lingers for a heartbeat. A brief testament, to establish his case. But Ren’s reaction is _visceral,_ jerking back against Hux’s palm, a ripple reverberating through his body. A noise caught between a growl and a gasp pushes its way through the vocoder, a flare of crackling static.

 

Hux turns from the bridge; his hand falls back to his side. Ren lurches after him, and for a breathless moment he thinks the Knight is going to— do something, something rash. Lift him by the throat, the way he’s lifted the few unfortunate troopers that have stumbled onto the scene of his tantrums. Or envelop him, somehow. Swallow him whole.

 

But then he stops short, his chest heaving.

 

And Hux knows he has him all but cornered.

 

 

…

0115: HUX >> _Do you ever think about me?_

0121: REN >> _what_

0121: HUX >> _Do you ever think about me?_

0123: REN >> _why_

0123: REN >> _you’re drunk arent u_

0123: HUX >> _Not in the slightest_

0124: REN >> _hux_

0124: HUX >> _Okay, yes, I’ve been drinking_

0124: HUX >> _But not enough to lose my sense of grammar and punctuation, both of which are, if you hadn’t noticed, still superior to yours_

0124: HUX >> _Will you answer the question now?_

0125: REN >> _i guess_

0125: REN >> _sometimes i do_

0125: HUX >> _How?_

0125: REN >> _what_

0125: HUX >> _How, in what way, do you think about me?_

0126: REN >> _idk_

0126: REN >> _why do u care_

0126: HUX >> _I’m simply curious_

0126: HUX >> _Want to play a game?_

0127: REN >> _stars_

0127: REN >> _u must be drunker than i thought_

0127: HUX >> _Stop that, I’m perfectly coherent_

0127: HUX >> _It’s just something to pass the time_

0127: HUX >> _I’ll think of something, then you try to guess what I’m thinking of_

0127: REN >> _thought u wanted me out of your head_

0127: HUX >> _When has that ever stopped you before?_

0128: HUX >> _Anyway, I’m inviting you in. It’s not a violation of privacy if I give you permission_

0128: HUX >> _Will you play?_

0128: REN >> _whats the point_

0128: HUX >> _If you don’t think you can do it, you can just say no_

0128: REN >> _of course i can do it im not an amateur_

0129: REN >> _are u thinking of something yet_

0129: HUX >> _You tell me_

0129: REN >> _ok_

0130: REN >> _rain_

0130: HUX >> _You’ll have to be more specific_

0131: REN >> _a planet_  

0132: REN >> _youre thinking of your father its raining and hes telling u to come inside_

0134: REN >> _did u grow up there_

0134: REN >> _on that planet_

0135: HUX >> _Arkanis, yes._ _I lived there for a good portion of my childhood, although we did move from house to house often. My father owned quite a few properties planetside_

0135: REN >> _did u like him_

0135: HUX >> _Who?_

0135: REN >> _your father_

0136: HUX >> _Why don’t we go another round?_

0136: REN >> _ok_

0138: REN >> _youre thinking of the first time we met and u found me choking that stupid colonel with the force_

0138: REN >> _then i broke a console and u threatened to tranquilize me_

0138: HUX >> _That was quick_

0139: REN >> _did i get it right_

0139: HUX >> _Yes_

0139: HUX >> _You’re quite good at this, you know_

0140: REN >> _thx i guess_

0140: HUX >> _One last go?_

0140: REN >> _ok_

0142: REN >> _hux?_

0143: REN >> _what is_

0144: REN >> _what are u_

0145: REN >> _hux what are u doing_

0145: HUX >> _What do you mean, what am I doing?_

0145: HUX >> _Tell me what I’m thinking of_

0146: REN >> _no_

0146: REN >> _no i cant_

0146: HUX >> _You most certainly can_

0147: HUX >> _Ren?_

0148: HUX >> _I know you’re in my head, Ren_

0148: HUX >> _I know you’re looking_

0149: HUX >> _I’d wager this is the same way that you think about me, isn’t it?_

0149: HUX >> _Just like this_

0149: HUX >> _With my fingers up your ass_

0149: HUX >> _My mouth on your dick_

0150: HUX >> _It’d feel so good Ren I’d make you feel so_

 

0150: REN, INCOMING CALL >>

Hux picks up with one hand, the other rubbing slowly at the press of his cock through his trousers. He’s admittedly tipsy, his mouth is purpled with wine; he’s hard and he only gets harder when he hears Ren exhale through the transmitter, and then say, in a strained, hoarse voice he almost doesn’t recognize:

 

_“You can’t do that.”_

 

“You’re not wearing your helmet,” says Hux, giddy with elation and wine and the stiffness between his legs. He splays his fingers out, still stroking himself through the fabric, and sighs into the transmitter. “That’s— ah, hells— your real voice, then?”

 

 _“Hux.”_ His name sounds choked in Ren’s mouth. _“You, you need to stop—”_

 

“Do I?” Hux closes his eyes, tips his head back. Thinks about hot sweat on his collarbones, fingers on his hips, a firm body beneath him, thrusting up against him. “Tell me you want me to, and I will.”

 

On the other end of the line Ren makes a half-strangled noise, low, in the back of his throat.

 

 _“What I want. Doesn’t matter.”_ He swallows, hard; Hux can _hear_ it, _“You shouldn’t, you can’t think about me. Like that.”_

Hux rolls his hips up against his palm, listening to Ren’s breath catch and falter. “Like what?” he breathes, grinding down with the heel of his hand, bucking up into his own touch, stifling a moan between freshly bitten lips. “Like— like this?”

 

 _“Hux,”_ says Ren, helplessly. And again, _“Hux—”_

 

“My door is unlocked,” Hux says.

 

Then he ends the call.

 

 

…

 

 

It takes Ren thirty minutes to show: fifteen of which Hux is sure he has spent either drawing up a list of reasons not to come, or throwing things, and the remaining fifteen of which he has probably spent getting all mixed up on the way to Hux’s quarters.

 

He does not knock. The door hisses open and he’s there, in the entry, in his mask and robes, “Stop it,” he grits out immediately, hovering over the threshold, as if he is afraid to step one foot farther. “You’ve been— doing it all week, it’s, it’s driving me— mad—”

 

Hux frowns, sets down the water he’s been sipping at; his head is almost clear again, or at least clear enough to know that he needs to be careful with how he chooses to handle this— to handle _Ren—_ here and now.

 

“Take off the mask,” he says, getting to his feet. “Then we’ll talk.”

 

Ren’s hands fly up to the clasps of the helmet on either side of his head, holding it down as though Hux will tear it off if he refuses. “I shouldn’t.”

 

Hux snorts, indelicately. “Surely you _can._ ”

 

“I’m not talking about the mask,” Ren says in a rush. He’s begun to pace, in short jerky steps, his cowl fluttering around his shoulders. “I shouldn’t— I can’t involve myself. With you.”

 

“If you’re uncomfortable with my advances, say so.”

 

The Knight makes a noise, grating, frustrated. “That’s _not,_ I’m— you know why.”

 

“Must I remind you that of the two of us, _you_ are the one with the ability to read minds, not me?”

 

“Snoke,” says Ren, harshly, spitting static. “He wouldn’t want me to.”

 

Somehow, Hux keeps his laughter in check, squashing it beneath his tongue. “Oh, did he tell you that?”

 

“No, but—” the Knight swings his arm up sharply in a wide gesture that could mean any number of things. “I can’t afford to— you would be a _distraction_ —”

 

“Am I not one already?”

 

Ren recoils. The helmet does nothing to conceal the way that his body betrays him, turning in on himself, staggering away from Hux and his primed words. For a sliver of a second, Hux feels a sliver of— pity, sympathy, something. “You don’t even know what I look like,” Ren accuses. He’s trembling, Hux realizes, he’s _shaking_. “You don’t know— _anything_. About me.”

 

“Is it so hard to believe that I would like to?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You _hate_ me,” exclaims Ren, vehement.

 

Then, again, quietly:

 

“You hate me.”

“Yes,” says Hux, because he cannot deny it, he could never hide it. “I know, I do, and now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take you to bed.”

 

Ren falters. Struggles to decide, to give in, “I don’t understand,” he says, and not even the distortion of the vocoder is able to hide the distress in those three words, or the way his voice wavers.

 

“Neither do I,” answers Hux, softer than he should. “Take off the kriffing mask, Ren.”

 

Ren hesitates for a long moment more.

 

Then his hands creep up to the sides of his helmet again.

 

His movements are jerky and floundering, fingers catching on the release; the locks hiss as they’re worked free and he ducks his chin as the thing comes off, shoulders drawn up and tight, back sloped in a nervous, arced hunch.

 

Hux hadn't realized that he’d been holding his breath. But when Ren lifts his head, it presses out of his lungs in a dizzying flood.

 

His hair is dark and falls to brush his jaw in thick waves, encasing the pale frame of his face. His mouth is wide, full, soft-looking; his nose juts out in a solid, strong line. His eyes are deep, black pools, impossibly expressive, absurdly afraid as they meet Hux’s own. He casts them down as Hux studies the rest of him: the long curve of his lashes, the peak of his ears, the spot-marks trailing his brow and cheeks—

 

Tersely and without a word, Ren moves to lift his helmet back over his head.

 

Hux is in front of him in two long strides, slim fingers gripping the wide spans of his wrists. The helmet catches between his palms, wedged against Ren’s stomach.

 

“Don’t you dare,” Hux exhales, “ _Ren._ This is what you’ve been hiding, under there?”

 

Ren blinks, fast. “You sound. Pleased.”

 

“ _Pleased_ ,” Hux echoes, staring at him, “look at you, you’re _lovely—”_

 

“What?” His voice cracks, badly, and he flushes— but there’s an anxious, uncertain hope in those naked eyes. Hux is struck with the certainty that no one has ever called him anything of the sort, before now. “Do you really think—”

 

Hux’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Ren’s eyes follow the motion helplessly, widening at the edges.

 

“Hux,” he says, like the breath has been punched from his body, “can I—”

 

“Don’t _ask,”_ Hux cuts him off, pulling him in by his cowl; the helmet drops to the floor between them, and then they are kissing.

 

It is possibly the worst first kiss Hux has ever had.

 

Ren has no idea what he’s doing— that much becomes painfully clear, in the first few seconds. His mouth pushes up against Hux’s without grace or tact, teeth too eager and tongue sloppy, and wet, and everywhere. Hux tolerates it for longer than anyone should. Then he forces down his revulsion, and steers Ren back with both hands.

 

“Stop,” he commands, lip curling, resisting the urge to wipe his spit-slicked mouth on his sleeve, “hells, you’re absolutely terrible.”

 

Ren wilts at the reprimand as if Hux has slapped him. He bows his head, the wide frame of his body going tense, trembling the way a pent-up, wild thing does when it’s brought to heel. “I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is uncannily high. “Sorry, I’m sorry, please—”

 

The beat of blood beneath his jaw surges. Hux traps his pulse with the pad of his thumb.

 

“Please,” Ren repeats, fingers clutching and gripping at Hux’s collar, begging to let him stay. “I want to be better.”

 

Hux presses forward, slowly this time, and Ren is blessedly still, letting Hux’s mouth slide sweetly over his, letting Hux’s teeth catch carefully on his lower lip. He gasps softly when Hux licks into his mouth, a hot red flush creeping up from his throat to those big ears; by the time Hux has begun to suck on his tongue, Ren is shuddering, his cock pressed solidly into Hux’s thigh.

 

It happens abruptly. Like the flare of lights from zero to eighty percent, or the jolt in his gut when the ship drops into hyper speed— suddenly, the thoughts in Hux’s head are not entirely his own.

_Feels so good, he feels so— he’s soft, he’s so smooth, how is he so smooth? So much better than I ever imagined I didn’t think it would be like this I didn’t think he would give me this I never thought I’d— oh, hells, I’m lost, I’m ruined, I’m done for, I’m his—_

“Ren,” says Hux, against his lips. “Is that you?” His heart is racing, thudding hard and quick in the hollow of his throat, hearing it over and over, _I’m his—_

 

Ren groans, eyes half-closed, forehead falling against Hux’s; he leans into him helplessly, like he’s caught in a tractor beam. “I can’t, I can’t help it—”

 

Hux crushes their lips together, hoping it will shut him up— but it seems to have the opposite effect, Ren whimpering and moaning into his mouth, his thoughts clinging to Hux’s mind the way the flimsy sheet-rafts had washed up downed pilots on Arkanis shores, after a hurricane: _don’t stop don’t ever stop, this is all you need. Gods, so soft, he’s so— and he wants this he wants you oh stars— why does he want you?_

_How could he ever want you?_

 

…

 

 

It is Ren that pulls away, the second time.

 

Hux has started to harden in his pants, twitching every time he feels Ren’s hips piston forward in a clumsy, senseless need for friction, but when he reaches down to palm at Ren’s cock, Ren goes taut. His head drops onto Hux’s shoulder, clutching at him— a different kind of desperation, a muted kind of panic.

 

“Hux,” he says, turning his head so that his words are muffled in the crook of Hux’s neck, “I’m not— I don’t know if I can—”

 

Hux pulls his hand away, and Ren’s grip relaxes in relief. “You haven’t done this before,” he says, not quite a question, the answer already apparent. “I suspected.”

 

“Can we just—” Ren stop short, and Hux feels the soft brush of lashes falling shut against the skin of his throat. _I want to sleep with you,_ he whispers, voice hushed even in Hux’s head. _But could we— could we just do that? Just— sleep?_

 

“What?” Hux says, at a loss. "Nothing else?”

 

He had thought that they’d go at it like Loth-cats in heat. He'd thought it’d be rough and frantic and needy— all the tension between them, all the pent-up _nevers_ in Ren—

 

He hadn’t planned for—

 

_Just sleep._

 

He has never spent the night with another body at his side.

 

He isn’t sure he knows how.

 

But Ren is looking at him with those incurably soulful eyes, brimming with too much, with everything, and so Hux leads him back. Lies him down, sits on the edge of the mattress and watches as he curls that big body up, his head leaning up against Hux’s hip, gazing up at him like Hux has pulled him from hellfire.

 

 _Hux,_ he says, still in Hux’s head, and the waver in his voice is one that Hux is already sick of hearing.

 

Or perhaps simply afraid to hear, again.

 

He cards his hands through Ren’s thick hair, scratches blunt nails at his scalp. “Shh,” he murmurs, “Back in your own head, now.”

 

Ren nuzzles against Hux’s thigh, closes his eyes, and obeys.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> local knight of ren has a boner, local general gives a hand job, local feelings are Caught

 

Hux startles awake with the feeling that something is indescribably and fundamentally out of balance.

 

He’s in his bed, in his room; the dark shapes of his quarters are familiar to him even with the lights cast down. And he doubts that he’s overslept— he never does, the precise accountability of his internal alarm clock is one of his best assets. It isn’t until he’s managed to blink back his focus and regain slow clarity of mind that he realizes what it is that’s different about this morning, in particular:

 

The curls of tangled black hair, fanned out over the adjacent pillow.

 

The dark eyes close, and watching him.

 

 _Ah,_ he thinks, heartbeat drumming hard. _Right._

_Ren._

 

He’d slept fitfully, at first. Unable to keep from honing in on every even breath the Knight took, every small twitch, every soft sigh. It had been past 0300 hours before he’d finally managed to slip into some semblance of consistent sleep, lying at the edge of the mattress as far away from the other man as he could get— a tactical move which clearly has made no difference, because, apparently, at some unfortunate point in the night, he’d rolled himself back to the middle of the bed, and folded Ren up into his arms—

 

And that’s where they are now.

 

“Hux,” says Ren, breath stale, and puffing against Hux’s cheeks. “You’re awake.”

 

His voice is screwed tight and straining. He’s sweating along his brow, at his temples.

 

His cock, Hux realizes, the fogginess of his mind dissolving as a jolt of excitement strikes through his belly, is rock hard against Hux’s thigh.

 

Scarlet heat creeps over the Knight’s enormous ears when Hux tips up his chin, and lifts a meaningful eyebrow. “Sorry,” he stammers, making a flustered attempt to scoot back so that his hips no longer align with the solid weight of Hux’s body, “I’m, I’ll—”

 

Hux slots the palm of his hand over the bulge between Ren’s legs, and squeezes.

 

Ren cries out immediately, the sound torn, his body spasming forward, hands jerking up to fist in Hux’s hair, “ _Oh—_ Hux, Hux—”

 

“Poor boy,” Hux whispers, voice dry, half mocking, peeling away the robes that have stuck to Ren’s sweaty skin. The Knight’s body is as sculpted as he had dared to imagine, and he breathes out slowly, fingers drawn down over the line of his sternum, and the firm press of his abdomen. When his fingers wrap around Ren’s dick— _gods, it_ is _big—_ Ren shudders, and unclenches his grip on Hux’s scalp to squeeze at Hux’s bare arms with a whine that leaves his throat high-pitched, and anguished. “How long have you been like this?”

 

Ren’s eyes are screwed shut. His mouth is open, panting. “Since I— since I woke up—”

 

“And how long have you been awake?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ren groans, and his face is drawn in such raw, intense pleasure that it almost resembles pain. “I tried to— to meditate, my powers— helped, but it kept— _happening,_ I, I tried to push you away but I didn’t want to wake you and— when you moved it only made it worse—”

 

“There,” says Hux, soothing, twisting his hand slowly, thumb brushing teasingly against the slit. “Hush, I’ve got you, now.”

 

“Hux,” Ren chokes out. “ _Stars_ —” _He’s touching me oh oh hells he’s touching me and I feel, I feel like I’m coming apart I feel alive I can’t breathe— I must be dreaming he’s touching me how many times have I dreamed of this, of him—_

Hux’s hand tightens around his cock. “ _Stop_ it— don’t do that, get back in your own head—”

 

Ren’s hips thrust up into his grip, Ren’s voice breaks around a wordless, wailed apology. _I’m sorry,_ Hux hears; Ren’s mouth is moving but he still hasn’t managed to revert back to speaking aloud, _I’m sorry I don’t mean to, Hux, Hux please don’t stop I’m sorry I’m—_

 

 _“Shhh,”_ and Hux sighs, sliding his hand down again, curling his fingers back to the tight heat of his balls in his own sort of apology. “All right, you’re all right. I didn’t mean to scold you.”

 

The Knight whimpers, nudging his face up against Hux’s cheek. His mouth rests damp and trembling at the corner of Hux’s jaw, just beneath his ear; a second later his tongue darts out past his lips, to taste the skin of Hux’s neck, and something in Hux’s chest _catches,_ and pulls _—_ a part of him set on edge, red-alert, muted panic. Ren’s cock throbs in his palm and Ren mouths against his jaw and all Hux can seem to do turn his head, and find his lips. Pump his fist harder to offset this gentleness, tainting everything.

 

He’s miscalculated. Somehow. They’re doing all of this out of order— they were supposed to fuck. And then go their separate ways, and see each other on the bridge the next morning, and perhaps it would be awkward but it would be out of Ren’s system, it wouldn’t be _this,_ at least, _this—_

This isn’t fucking. This doesn’t even feel like _sex._

 

This is Hux, touching Ren more gently than he’s ever touched anyone.

 

And this is Ren, looking at Hux like he wants to devour him. Like he wants to grab onto him, and hold him, his big arms around Hux’s narrow waist, his wide mouth hidden in Hux’s red hair.

 

He comes with a shocked, helpless noise, his broad nose pressed against Hux’s throat. He spurts over Hux’s hand hot, and wet, and thick; Hux strokes him through it until he’s gasping Hux’s name, over and over again, his dick twitching weakly. He’s spilled everywhere— _and so much:_ on his robes, over his belly, up onto his chest. Hux’s fingers are dripping. He wipes what he can onto the sheets.

 

Ren is still clutching at him.

 

“Here,” he says dreamily, still trembling. He reaches between Hux’s legs. “I can— to you, now.”

 

Hux hesitates.

 

Then, foolishly, imagines:

 

Ren’s soft eyes, black in the early cycle shadows of his room, watching Hux writhe and bite down on his own hand, on his bedsheets, on his pillow. It’s been so long. And Ren’s touch would be uncertain, curious, he would touch Hux the way Hux had used to touch himself, beneath the thick quilts of that childhood home on Arkanis. Not sure, yet, of the things he liked. Of the people he liked. Jerking his hand clueless, and clumsy, that’s how Ren would touch him— until Hux taught him how, covering Ren’s hand with his own, saying: _like this, see. And here— not so slowly. More like that, yes, Ren, yes—_

 

He rolls away, swings his legs over the bed. Behind him, Ren reaches out to grasp at thin air.

 

“I should be on the bridge,” Hux says, rising to his feet. “I don’t have time for anything else.”

 

He ducks into the refresher, to rinse the rest of the mess from his palms. His throat is tight. He can feel Ren’s eyes on the back of his head.

 

The very idea of meeting them feels like some kind of logical suicide.

 

Because meeting them, he knows, would mean giving in. And giving in would mean crawling back into bed, straddling Ren’s thighs, licking him clean. Licking him clean and then dirtying him, all over again. Coaxing out more of those half-choked, pretty noises. Seeing how many times he can make him come, just with his fingers, and his tongue.

 

Wanting Ren to do the same to him, in return.

 

_And hells, he wants—_

 

“Hux?”

 

“Out of my head,” he mutters, reflexively.

 

“I wasn’t in your—”

 

“I’ll see you at your post.”

 

Ren hasn’t moved from the tangle of sheets, when Hux finishes drying his hands, and turns back around. He’s just lying there, filthy, come crusting on his robes and his muscled chest, looking at Hux with a damnable vulnerability.

 

And something darker, creeping in around the edges.

 

“You already regret this,” Ren says, bitterly.

 

“What?” He’s focusing on working his heel into his boot. Words come more easily, when Ren’s eyes aren’t bewitching him. “Of course I don’t.”

 

“Last night, when you— kissed me. You were drunk. I shouldn’t have come.”

 

Hux threads his arms through his coat, fiddling with the edges, then his gloves, next. “Oh, please. I am more than capable of handling myself after a few glasses of wine, I knew what I was doing.”

 

“I shouldn’t have come,” Ren repeats, agonized, a hateful power to his words. Hux feels a strange sort of vibration: a tremor in the room, the soft rattle of his desk, the lights overhead flickering, then sparking. The hairs on the back of Hux’s neck flare up, his teeth set on edge; Ren lets out a groan, grief-stricken, the very air between them crackling into something dangerously charged, “Don’t lie to me, I can— _feel_ it, you feel _wrong—”_

“I feel _wrong_ ,” snaps Hux, meeting Ren’s eyes at last, flushing up past his neck, “because I have never so thoroughly _enjoyed_ jerking someone off before, I feel wrong because I am _embarrassed,_ Ren, kriffing hell— is that honest enough for you?”

 

The shudder of the room ceases, slowly. Ebbing, until even the desk has settled back onto its delicately carved legs, and the light’s flickering has dulled to a steady glow. Ren blinks slow, and the anger snuffs out like the flick of a lighter, snapped shut.

 

“Oh,” says Ren, quieter. “You— liked it?”

 

He looks very small, all of a sudden. And tired, tangled in Hux’s sheets, knees drawn up to his chest, chin tucked. He wraps his long arms around his shins and stares down at the mattress. “Sorry,” he mumbles, turning his head so that his voice is muffled in the crook of his arm; there is more he wants to say, Hux can see it in the way his shoulders tense, and his throat bobs. But he doesn’t give voice to whatever it is that he’s thinking.

 

Hux smooths back his hair, wills the burning heat from his cheeks. “I need to go. They’ll have expected me at least ten minutes ago. Will you join me on the bridge, or not?”

 

“I need to use your refresher first,” Ren says, twisting his lower lip between his teeth. “And call for a droid. To bring me new robes.”

 

“As long as you get out of bed before the next day cycle, you can do as you please.”

 

Ren glowers, lifting his head to fix Hux with an incredulous look, and Hux feels the abrupt, ridiculous urge to kiss it off his face. To lean across the mattress, and lift Ren’s chin with a gloved finger. To slot their mouths together, despite Ren’s morning breath and awkward tongue, just to feel him go limp, just to hear him beg, so sloppy and sweet, so eager to please—

 

From the bed, Ren makes a soft sound, and smiles, crooked teeth and full mouth.

 

Hux strides out of the room before he can accidentally transfer more of his foolish fantasies from his head to Ren’s.

 

 

…

 

 

The first issue of Hux’s day should be getting his hands on a cup of caf, or two. And then going through the transmissions that he’s received overnight, and then calling for another cup of caf. And then inspecting Starkiller’s final construction plans, and their monthly budget review.

 

For the first time in the first hour of his staffed cycle, he does none of that.

 

He stands on the bridge, and stares blankly down at a supply run report, reading the same words over and over again, unable to comprehend a word of it. It’s Ren’s fault, of course— Ren and his stupid dark eyes, and his ridiculously big cock, just as ridiculously big as the rest of him. It's Ren, and the keening noise that’d left his throat when he came, like Hux had reached inside of his chest, and found someplace deep and secret and lonely, a place that had been untouched for years.

 

And if the mere thought of him wasn't maddening enough:

 

0905: REN >> _hux_

0908: REN >> _hux_

0912: REN >> _r u there_

0917: REN >> _???_

0920: REN >> _r u working or something_

 

It’s hopeless. There’s a headache building behind his eyes and he’s wasting his time, pretending to work, feeling himself tense whenever his transmitter flashes, a new message lighting up his screen, the message tone echoing through the bridge.

 

_Ping. Ping. Ping._

0925: REN >> _just wanted to say thanks_

0926: REN >> _for this morning_

0927: REN >> _i liked it alot it felt rlly good and i thought u should know_

He has half a mind to leave the bridge in Mitaka’s hands, and beat a hasty retreat to his personal office. He has a packet of Nyex tablets in his desk drawer, a few remaining antistress capsules; he could dim the lights to a placating twenty percent, lock his door, mute his transmitter. That’s what he needs, right now. To be left alone. To be permitted some time, and space, to think this through.

 

Phasma corners him before he can make his escape.

 

“Here,” she says, in her way of greeting, handing him a data pad. “Tactical scores, since you’ve been asking for them.”

 

It’s a data spread for the 2100 squad— yes, he has been wanting to look this over. They’re Phasma’s best. The newest results only serve to prove that further.

 

“They should be deployed,” Phasma continues, sensing his initial approval. “Sooner, rather than later. Their talent is going to waste, here—”

 

_Ping._

 

0935: REN >> _i used ur shampoo hope thats ok_

 

Hux pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and turns back to the report, scrolling through the list of numbers, trying to focus. “Have any of them stood out in particular?”

 

“FN-2140. She’s quite good with demolitions, in simulation. FN-2199 is often emotional, but has potential. FN-2187 has proven to be a good leader— sentimental, at worst, but he works well, with the others.”

 

He singles out the three troopers, saves them on a different file. “Perhaps we’ll set aside some kind of reward for the three of them,” he says, not really thinking. “Before they go planetside. Or after, depending on how well they perform once they’re out of simulation—”

 

_Ping._

0936: REN >> _hux??_

_Ping._

0936: REN >> _sorry i just_

_Ping._

0936: REN >> _i cant stop thinking abt u_

 

Hux presses hard at his temples, a lightheaded rush that feels dangerously close to hysteria building in his throat as he tosses the datapad off to the side. “Would you like a cigarette? I’ve a break scheduled in a few minutes, but I might as well take it now.”

 

Phasma pulls her helmet off, sweeping sleek blond hair back from her forehead as she frowns at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

 

“What? Nothing, I’ve just offered you a smoke—”

 

“You’re handing out rewards for my troops,” she says, flatly, arching a pale eyebrow. “And taking your break early— is there something I should know about? A brain tumor, maybe?”

 

“No, no—” He waves a hand, annoyed, “I’m just. Trying to be pleasant, I don’t know, do you want the cig or not?”

 

She still seems suspicious, but she tucks her helmet under her arm, and plucks the offering from his fingers. “You aren’t…” she begins, leaning into the flame of his lighter, amusement creeping into her words. “ _Seeing_ anyone, are you?”

 

“Excuse me?” Hux goes hard-eyed. “No, of course I’m— why? What’ve you heard?”

 

The end of the cig crackles orange. Phasma shrugs, and blows smoke. “Nothing explicit. Just gossip from the troops chatting in the mess.”

 

“What did they say?”

 

“Well, BR-419 reportedly saw someone heading toward your corridor at 0200 hours, last night. And TK-751 says they saw someone leaving your room at 0700 hours. Naturally,” she sucks at the cig again, exhales, “word's got around. You’re really quite popular with them, you know. They do like to speculate.”

 

“That’s— _absurd,”_ says Hux, affronted, crushing his own cigarette between his fingers. “Don’t they have anything better to talk about?”

She looks over at him, slyly. “You sound defensive.”

 

“Right,” Hux snorts, lifting his chin and taking a long drag. “Well, whatever your soldiers are implying, I can _assure_ you—”

 

“Hux,” grates out a deep, mechanical voice at his shoulder, and he nearly drops his cig.

 

The Knight’s helmet is fixed firmly over his head. He’s without his billowing robes— just a form-fitting, sleeveless tunic, and a black vestment underneath. Not an inch of skin, as per usual. Hux swallows down ill-timed disappointment, and clears his throat— _don’t think about his dick, please, or the way he looked in your bed, or how his eyes went soft, after he came—_ “Yes, hello, what is it?”

 

“You need to come with me,” says Ren.

 

Hux glances at Phasma, whose eyes have strayed back toward the 2100 trooper report. “In a minute,” he says, “I’m in the middle of something.”

 

“It’s important.”

 

“Too important to wait sixty seconds?”

 

“Yes,” says Ren, and through the static filter Hux can make out his impatience. “The Supreme Leader has requested our presence.”

 

“What?” He straightens, immediately. “ _Kriff—_ my apologies, Captain. I’m afraid we’ll have to finish this another time.”

 

Phasma salutes, nodding, “I’ll forward you the details.”

 

“Yes, yes—” Hux grinds out his cig beneath his heel; a moment later a mouse droid zips by to clean up the ashes left behind. “You know the drill,” he calls over his shoulder, sweeping hastily out into the corridor. “Lieutenant Mitaka, you have the bridge—”

 

He’s already made a mess of his morning; now his mind is racing. What does Snoke want? Starkiller's preperation is on schedule, there’s nothing that could possibly have gone wrong, since the last time they spoke— no, this is a personal matter. This is about Ren. It must be.

 

Has the Supreme Leader told Ren of his plan? Is he calling the whole ordeal off? Has he decided it isn’t working— has it _already_ worked?

 

Ren couldn’t possibly be satisfied with one handjob. Not that Hux would care, he just— he couldn’t have lost interest, this quickly—

 

_Could he?_

 

“I sent you messages,” Ren speaks up, voice crackling behind his helmet, keeping an easy pace with Hux as he hurries through the halls, taking the already well-worn path to Snoke’s holo-chamber. “All morning. You didn’t answer.”

 

“I was busy.”

 

“Did you read them?”

 

“I was _busy,”_ Hux repeats, tightly, still avoiding an answer. “We can talk about it later, Ren, now isn’t really the time to—”

 

“Hux,” says Ren, slowing. Then, again, “ _Hux,”_ reaching out, grabbing at the coattails of Hux’s jacket, “wait.”

 

Hux spins on his heel. “For what? You want to keep _him_ waiting? He maybe be your Master, Ren, but I know well enough that he will not tolerate—”

 

“I made that up,” says Ren.

 

“You— what?”

 

“Snoke didn’t call for us. I made it up. So that you would come with me.”

 

Hux gapes.

 

Then splutters, “But why—”

The hydraulic hiss of a door interrupts his query, then Ren’s huge hands, fixed tightly on his shoulders, and Hux’s legs, stumbling, as Ren steers the both of them into the newly opened room.

 

_“What are you—”_

The door slides closed again, shutting them inside. Hux’s eyes make disoriented adjustments in the poor light, squinting to make out his surroundings:

 

Old, rusted ship parts. Rejected propaganda posters. Wired tubing, technician tools, dismantled droids.

 

“Did you just,” he squawks, astonished, and irate, and halfway to punching Ren square in the helmet despite the fractured hand he knows he’ll receive in the process, “push me into a _closet?”_

“Yes,” says Ren. He steps forward. Reflexively, Hux takes a step back— and finds nothing but the smooth, cold metal wall, preventing him from fleeing any further.

 

“And why are we here?”

“It’s the only empty room in this block.” They are pressed close, almost chest-to-chest. Ren moves impossibly closer and Hux finds himself trapped, slotted between Ren’s hips and the wall at his back.

 

“And why,” Hux asks, staring up into Ren’s ghastly mask, “do we need this room to be empty?”

 

“For this,” says Ren.

 

He goes to his knees.

 

Immediately Hux’s heart-rate spikes, leaping up into his throat; Ren takes off his helmet and his hair falls in waves around his face like a soft, dark curtain. The faint, familiar waft of his own refresher gel fills the tiny space they’ve crowded into and Hux feels his stomach flip, searching stupidly for words as Ren’s hands go to his belt, “Ren, you— you don’t need to—”

 

He tugs Hux’s trousers to his knees. Slides his regulation briefs down over the swell of his ass, his cock bobbing between his legs, and then—

 

“Hells,” Hux chokes out, heat surging into his cheeks, “oh, _shit—”_

Ren has never done this before, either. That much is obvious, he’s— _licking._ And kissing, and mouthing earnestly from the head of Hux’s dick to the hilt. Never taking it in his mouth. Just tasting his way down the shaft, his breath coming in choppy exhales, his palms gripping the backs of Hux’s legs. Something excited and lewd stirs in Hux’s belly; the pinkish swipe of Ren’s tongue, lapping at his cock, is somehow more erotic than if he had taken Hux all the way to his throat, and gagged.

 

“This is— ridiculous,” pants Hux. He’s half-delirious, painfully hard. His voice sounds a million miles away to his own ears, lost amidst the sloppy passes of Ren’s mouth, and tongue. “Absolutely— unseemly, I’m— I’m still on-duty—”

 

The Knight doesn’t appear to have heard him. He’s stroking clumsily at the base of Hux’s cock, now, and kissing wetly along the underside with a greedy enthusiasm— what would those mess hall troopers think, Hux wonders, chest heaving, his head thudding back against the metal wall, if they knew about this? What would his _officers_ think if _they_ knew— about this, about Ren’s head dipped between his thighs, and Hux’s pants pooling around his knees? The Order’s esteemed General, being blown in a hallway closet.

 

Ren licks his lips, nuzzling against the curve of Hux’s hip and looking up at him through dark lashes, eyes doe-like. “Is it good?” he asks, uncertainly. “Am I— good?”

 

“You’re— _ah,”_ a white-hot shudder ripples down his spine as Ren tongues at him again, precome stringing against his bottom lip. “Yes, yes, you’re— you’re good, Ren, you’re— oh, shit, _fuck—”_

He’s put that wide mouth around his cockhead, suckling at the tip— _finally, finally, stars—_ and encouraged by Hux’s curses, he struggles up on his knees, trying to swallow more of him down.

 

 _Please,_ he says, in Hux’s head. _Tell me how._

 

Hux steadies the tremor of his fingers in Ren’s hair, and exhales. “All right,” he manages, breathlessly. “That’s good, just, be— _careful,_ uhn— with your teeth, don’t— oh. Oh stars, yes— _yes._ And use— use your tongue, just…deeper, you can take it deeper, fu— _fuck_ yes like that like— Ren. Ren, Ren, _ah—”_

 

He’s always hated the noises that come crawling up out of the deep, hollowed space in his chest. He’s always hated the way his voice sounds, in the sweltering, heavy minutes before he comes. But he can’t stifle the groans, as his cock nudges the back of Ren’s throat, that perfect, velvet-wet heat everywhere, Ren swallowing and gagging around him. Spit drools from the corner of Ren’s lips, sliding to his chin as Hux holds his head in place and rolls his hips, fucking slowly in and out of his mouth, his self-control falling apart in the form of words.

 

“Beautiful boy,” he babbles, his voice high, reedy, “fuck, you’ve never done this to anyone before, have you? Have you, and you chose me, didn’t you? You chose— oh, Kylo, _gods_ that’s good, you’re so good, you sweet, sweet thing, _Kylo_ —”

 

He’s coming before he realizes it. Crying out, fingers curling painfully tight in Ren’s hair, yanking up until Ren is crying out, too, muffled, moaning and choking around Hux’s cock as Hux empties himself down his throat. The bright spots behind his eyes fade slowly. He sags back against the wall, his knees wobbling, Ren’s heavy, ragged breath warming the bare skin of his thigh.

 

“Fuck,” he mutters at last, boneless, unclenching his fists, petting absentmindedly at Ren’s hair.

 

 _“Fuck,”_ he says again, startled, glancing down at Ren and realizing the mess he’s made.

 

Spittle is still dribbling from Ren’s mouth. The come he wasn’t able to swallow down has streaked across his chin, up over his jaw. His hair is tousled, teased into a disheveled, tangled birds-nest.

 

“Look at you,” says Hux, holding back an odd sort of delirious laughter, “oh, gods, I’ve ruined you—”

 

Ren’s eyes are bright, pleasure-drunk. _You ruined me long before this,_ he says, or Hux thinks he might've heard him say—

 

He’s not listening, not really.

 

He’s stooping down, holding Ren’s sweaty, seed-slicked face between his hands; Ren surges up to meet him, still on his knees at Hux’s feet. Their mouths slide together, both of them gasping against each other’s lips, and Hux tastes himself, and tastes the remnants of Ren’s smile.

 

And for the first time, he has the feeling that this is something he should keep.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 

 

Hux learns three fundamental things about Kylo Ren, over the course of the next three weeks.

 

One: he is an unappeasably stubborn precisionist. Once he learns something new, he is desperate to replicate it, over and over again, until he has it perfected. This happens first with kissing, Ren surging forward the very minute they find themselves behind closed doors, his mouth pressing excitedly against Hux’s until both their lips are swollen. Until Ren’s teeth tease, instead of tear, and Hux no longer feels as though he is being assaulted every time the Knight leans in.

 

They move onto cocksucking, then, and Ren spends so much time between Hux’s legs that Hux is surprised that he still owns a pair of robes that aren’t worn at the knees. He is also surprised at how eagerly Ren takes to it— but then again, he does have a beautiful mouth, velvet-soft and plush. “Made for this,” Hux tells him, slack in his desk chair with Ren’s face in his lap and filthy endearments slipping from between his lips before he can stop them: _darling, clever boy. Good, so good for me,_ and by the time he’s shot his load down Ren’s throat Ren is teary-eyed, and whimpering to be touched, and:

 

Two. His moods are as delicate and unpredictable as a trainee’s twitchy trigger finger.

 

He has always struggled with clear communication, but in the privacy of Hux’s quarters and the intimate solitude of Hux’s bed, he is hopeless. Hux often finds himself speculating as to what it is that Ren wants— emotionally exhilarating when he guesses right, hellish when he does not. There are days in which he finds the Knight’s eyes swimming in tears twice in one hour, days in which he’ll narrowly avoid a wall-cracking tantrum only to have Ren’s arms loped around his neck afterward, Ren’s apologies stammered up against his ear, Ren’s cock leaking against his belly.

 

At first it seems as though Ren likes to be kissed softly, and manhandled roughly— but sometimes it is the other way around. And other times, when he is particularly wanting and eager for whatever Hux gives him, it doesn’t matter. He is quite good at taking orders, once Hux has gotten all his clothes off; regardless of circumstance, Hux has found that he responds very well to praise—

 

Yet wavers, always, on the thin knife-edge of self-loathing and doubt.

 

Because—

 

And this is three—

 

Ren is, for some unfathomable reason, desperately resolved to hate himself.

 

Hux’s initial assumption is that this internal contempt is simply another method he uses, to give himself fully to the Dark. But it hardly seems viable, and it clearly isn’t stable— he has seen that firsthand. He’s seen the old, self-knotted scars on his back and arms, the Knight’s bloodied knuckles and glass-shredded palms, the mirror in his refresher shattered into a million slivers. He’s _heard_ it— keening whispers in Hux’s head when he tangles fingers too tight in Ren’s hair, mind-speak murmurs growing louder when his praise flows a moment too late.

 

He finds it in Ren’s training regiment, punishing and exhausting. In the blank, hollow look he adopts at the mention of his Master’s name. It’s there in the way he silently cross-examines every word that passes Hux’s lips. In the way he stumbles over asking for the things he wants.

 

In the way he denies himself those things, even when they would be given freely.

 

Hux has had Ren in his bed for nearly a month and still, they have never made it further than a finger or two up Ren’s ass, and Hux’s hand on Ren’s cock.

 

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t pushed Ren to go any further. Ren is surely keen on asking— Hux has heard his wordless gasps of _more,_ fingering him pliant.

 

But he hasn’t asked, not aloud.

 

And for reasons Hux doesn’t quite understand, he finds himself unwilling to press for it.

 

It will resolve itself, he’s certain; there’s hardly time to consider the matter now, anyway. Starkiller’s engineers have nearly finished excavation and construction, and a tour of the planet is in order. In a matter of hours they will be on that icy surface together, surveying the result of Hux’s genius. The product of countless years worth of work, incarnated at last. They’ll stand side by side, golden leaders of a dawning golden age, watching the birth of the instrument that will shape their time—

 

“I can’t go with you,” Ren gasps.

 

Hux doesn’t really hear him, at first. Ren’s face is half-pressed into his pillows with his ass in the air, and Hux is licking into him, tongue curving around the rim of his hole, pleasure aching in his hips every time Ren moans. But then Ren says it again, urgently this time, and Hux’s head clears enough to answer.

 

“Of course you can,” he says, turning his head to huff the words out against the curve of Ren’s hip, running a hand up the back of his calf. “I’ll have Phasma stay behind to keep command, you won’t be needed here—”

 

“Snoke has called for me.”

 

Hux stiffens, and yanks back; a helpless sound crawls out of Ren’s throat at the loss. “Why?”

 

“Training, I don’t know,” shivered desperation ripples through Ren’s body, and he wriggles back toward Hux with a whine, “please, Hux, do it again—”

 

He sinks his teeth into the solid muscle of Ren’s thigh instead; Ren grinds his forehead into the mattress, groaning. “I leave _tomorrow,”_ Hux says, miffed, “you couldn’t have said anything sooner?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Ren pleads, frantic for the touch of Hux’s tongue inside of him again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want to make you— upset—”

 

Hux’s irritability spikes, at that— _him, upset—_ and he licks back into Ren to shut him up, satisfaction replacing his irritation as the Knight lets out a startled, cracked shout. His voice pitches up an octave when Hux slips a finger in beside his tongue, thrusting shamelessly back against Hux’s mouth; then he’s muffling his wails into the pillow, rutting hard and rhythmically against the mattress, coming practically untouched, fingers clenching and unclenching in the sheets.

 

He collapses when he’s finished, still breathing hard, the pillow beneath his head damp with sweat and drool. Hux drops down next to him, tangling a hand through his dark hair almost absentmindedly. “How long will you be gone?”

 

“A week,” Ren answers, chest heaving. “At the least.”

 

“And you’ll join me on Starkiller, afterwards?”

 

“If the Supreme Leader allows it.”

 

_He had better._

Hux rolls his eyes, and flicks at Ren’s forehead sharply. “Stop that.”

 

“‘M not doing anything,” Ren mumbles. He edges closer, dipping to press his lips against Hux’s neck; instinctively Hux tilts his head back, letting him nip at his pulse— but then Ren is moving, kissing his way down Hux’s chest. “It’s only a week,” he adds, pausing when he reaches Hux’s stomach. Soothingly. As if Hux needs to be soothed.

 

“I _know.”_ Hux props himself up, arms behind his head, watching Ren ease down his briefs, and lick a wet stripe up the underside of his cock. “It isn’t of any concern to me.”

 

“All right,” says Ren, like he doesn’t really believe it; Hux opens his mouth to make his defense, to insist.

 

But then Ren swallows him down, and all of his sharp and carefully readied words melt into blurred, reverent renditions of Ren’s name.

 

 

…

 

 

0605: HUX >> _Am I to understand that you left my ship this morning, without waking me?_

0608: HUX >> _That was careless_

0614: HUX >> _And a bit needlessly cruel, if I’m to be entirely honest_

0839: HUX >> _Have you reached Snoke yet?_

0855: HUX >> _I imagine he has most likely forbidden transmissions of any sort while you are with him, but you’ll receive these eventually, so I might as well send them_

1127: HUX >> _On the shuttle to Starkiller now. I’ll keep you informed_

                                   

1440: HUX >> _Stars, Ren, it’s beautiful. Only a fourth of the way to completion and already breathtaking. I wish you could see it now, the designs and concepts are nothing compared to the thing itself. The sheer size of the place— and they’ve still so much ground to cover. You’ll be impressed, I know it_

1529: HUX >> _My quarters are unnecessarily large. Pleasant enough. Perhaps a bit elaborately decorated for a military base, but well furnished_

1532: HUX >> _You’ll like the bed. It’s quite big_

1533: HUX >> _It’s suspiciously big, actually_

1546: HUX >> _Do you think the crew knows about us? Could you read their minds, when you return, and tell me who to send to reconditioning?_

2351: HUX >> _I used to have trouble sleeping next to you but now that you’ve gone I can’t seem to sleep at all_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

 

 

…

0708: HUX >> _It’s strange finding snow outside of the viewport window, instead of stars_

0812: HUX >> _Did you know this is the first time I’ve been stationed planetside in four years?_

0927: HUX >> _Update: the refresher has real water, and a bathtub. I expect you’ll utilize both on your arrival_

0927: HUX >> _In my company, of course_

1045: HUX >> _A more extensive tour of the facilities will be provided, today. It’s almost incomprehensible— my life’s work, constructed in front of my eyes. Like something out of a dream_

1433: HUX >> _I’ve been thinking about_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

1611: HUX >> _I want you here_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

1856: HUX >> _This is ridiculous it’s only the second day for fuck’s sake_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

 

 

…

0602: HUX >> _I keep expecting to wake up next to you_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

1245: HUX >> _In a meeting with the chief engineer at the moment. Planetary shields have been installed perfectly, and I’ll take a look at the thermal oscillator later this afternoon. The planet was an excellent fit for the weapon’s size and magnitude. With our tech and resources, it could be finished within three to four months_

1409: HUX >> _The Republic will be forced to take us seriously, after this. They must recognize us as a capable and potential form of leadership, or accept the consequences dealt to them_

1715: HUX >> _Do you feel my absence the way I feel yours?_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

 

2230: HUX >> _Exhausted. A truly rewarding day. Will write more tomorrow_

 

 

…

 

 

0843: HUX >> _I jerked myself off in the refresher this morning thinking of you, your pretty eyes, soft mouth_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

1325: HUX >> _I don’t know what’s wrong with me but every time I touch myself it’s not_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

2239: HUX >> _I miss your hands on me_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

 

 

…

 

 

0448: HUX >> _Is he breaking you? Is that what the Supreme Leader is doing with you, ensuring that you won’t need whatever it is we’re doing, when you return?_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

0920: HUX >> _Will you still want_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

 

1237: HUX >> _Has he told you that_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

1855: HUX >> _Ren. I am aware that this is all very sudden but you should know that this_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

 

 

…

 

 

1435: HUX >> _I’ve prepared for your arrival. A designated squad of troopers will be at the landing platform to meet you, and escort you to your new quarters. It is my hope that all is well, and that your time with the Supreme Leader has proved rewarding_

1438: HUX >> _I can’t be there I_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

1441: HUX >> _My mind has felt so empty without you there and_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

1443: HUX >> _Congratulations, you brute. I think you’ve finally driven me mad_

Hux stares down at his datapad, thumb hovering over _send._

 

He sighs.

 

Hits _delete_.

 

He has been pacing back and forth through the base’s forward command hub for hours, now. Ren’s impeding presence has lingered in his thoughts and churned in his stomach since he’d set foot outside of his quarters this morning. His officers have come and gone. He’s read a handful of reports, replied to a few transmissions— but for the most part, the work he has yet to do has built up steadily, while he’s fretted. And the snow has swirled down thickly across the post’s courtyard, outside, gusting up against the windows. Relentless and endless, like the constant turn-over of his gut.

 

1449: HUX >> _I’m afraid my schedule will not allow for_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

 

1450: HUX >> _I know you will be displeased at my absence at the landing platform, but my work must always take precedence over_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

 

1451: HUX >> _If Snoke’s told you the truth I can’t bear to_

MESSAGE STATUS: DELETED

 

 _“Sir,”_ Mitaka’s voice pipes up over his comlink, and he startles, cursing under his breath. _“Lord Ren’s shuttle has been picked up on our scanners, it appears to be on route.”_

Hux’s pulse skips.

 

Then skyrockets.

 

_“It should arrive on Starkiller in less than fifteen minutes—”_

 

“Lieutenant,” he snaps, hating the way his voice comes out, thin and fraying. “Did I _ask_ you for an update?”

 

 _“N—no, sir,”_ Mitaka stammers. _“But. Well— I thought you’d—”_

“I’m retiring to my quarters. See that I’m not disturbed, and cancel the rest of my meetings and holo-calls. That’ll be all.”

 

_“Yes, uh— right away, sir.”_

 

Then, rushed and rapid-fire:

 

_“He’ll be landing at docking bay 10C, sir, in case you want to—"_

“That’ll be _all,”_ snarls Hux, and his lieutenant squeaks out a sign-off, and cuts the feed.

 

 

…

 

 

It’s non-negotiable, he reminds himself on his way back to his rooms, running a stiff, tremor-ridden hand through his hair. He doesn’t have time to entertain. He has work to do. It’s not avoidance. He has work.

 

He’s not running. He’s _not—_

His door slides open, and he freezes, heart in his mouth.

 

“Hux,” says Ren.

 

The Knight is standing at the viewport window, his back to the ice-capped mountains and valleys of snow. His arms are folded over his chest, robes pooling at his feet. His helmet is nowhere in sight.

 

He’s watching Hux, bright-eyed.

 

“What—” Hux splutters. “What’re you doing here, you should be— I thought you’d— didn’t my squad greet you?”

 

“I dismissed them,” Ren says, stepping away from the window. “I don’t want a tour.”

 

There’s an air around him that Hux doesn’t recognize, can’t pinpoint. Something— breathless. He’s wired. There’s a fire to him, blazing but not excess, contained, “Ren,” says Hux, cautiously, warning—

 

 _“Hux,”_ answers Ren, striding toward him, the distance between them rapidly shrinking, Hux stumbles back until his back is up against the wall—

 

And then Ren is kissing him.

 

And pinning his hands over his head, his mouth sliding sweetly against Hux’s and immediately, relief overwhelming, Hux goes weak-kneed, opens under him, slides his tongue against Ren’s bottom lip, tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Ren groans, _bites,_ Hux feels a shudder stroke through him, feels himself go slack as the Knight releases his grip on Hux’s wrists to run both palms down the curve of his waist.

 

“I feel—” Ren kisses him, “so— _gods,_ so powerful, Snoke, he’s, he’s cleared my mind. Oh, I can feel— _everything,_ it’s so strong— I’ll show you.”

 

“Show me?” Hux echoes, leaning back in, toward him, eyes half-lidded. He’s light-headed, dizzy but different than before— fearless, now. Reckless. Relearning everything he’s been without, drinking in the way Ren wants him, Ren’s fervor, feral-blooded fire. “How?”

 

“Say something,” says Ren, panting hot against his lips. “Something true.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Tell me you missed me.”

 

“I didn’t,” replies Hux, automatically.

 

And Ren’s eyes alight, crooked teeth bared in a smile that is deliciously wild. “ _Lie,”_ he laughs, quietly, hand snaking down to grip the already-tented bulge between Hux’s legs, “I know it, I can— _feel_ it, you _liar—”_

Hux moans, unable to keep himself from rubbing against Ren’s wide palm. Ren pulls back his high collar to mouth at the hollow of his throat.

 

“Tell me something else.”

 

“I— I don’t have time for this—”

 

 _“Lie,”_ Ren repeats, sliding to his knees. He undoes the clasps of Hux’s right boot, his left. “Another.” Both boots come off. “Again.” He surges up, nuzzles his cheek against the clothed press of Hux’s cock, straining inside his pants.

 

“Ren, _kriff—”_ he gasps, catching his lower lip between his teeth as the Knight’s touch coils hot, at the base of his spine. “Gods, I hate you—”

 

Ren pulls back, blinking up at him. His expression flickers.

 

Catches.

 

Clears.

 

“Lie,” he says, softly, and there is something astonished in his eyes.

 

Hux hauls him up by his cowl before he can prove anything else.

 

His arms wind around Ren’s neck; Ren’s hands go to his waist. Their mouths crush together greedily, Hux sucking at the tip of Ren’s tongue, Ren’s moans swallowed whole. “Bed,” orders Hux, abandoning all thought of denial and obstinacy as Ren grinds up against his thigh. _“Now.”_

 

They fall back against the mattress together the way they’ve learned to: rubbing against each other breathlessly, teasing with the slide of fabric between them. But something has changed. It’s needier than it has ever been. Hux rolls so that Ren is beneath him, straddles his hips with his heart racing, fumbling to undo his own trousers, jerking himself helplessly. Ren scrabbles at the buttons of his starch-pressed shirt with thick fingers, then struggles to shed himself of his own robes; he gives a wrecked, relieved sound as their cocks bump together at last, skin-on-skin, and Hux’s hand trembles, stroking at as much as he can.

 

“Please,” Ren exhales, rocking into his grip, “Hux, I need—”

 

“I know,” says Hux, and grabs for the oil on his bedside table. “I know.”

 

He’s hot inside, clenching blindly around Hux’s first finger— but he gives more easily than Hux had expected. “You did this to yourself?” he breathes, stretching him open, two fingers, now. “While you were away, you did this, didn’t you—”

 

Ren’s head writhes from side to side, whimpering, and Hux hears the familiar hum of Ren’s hunger, warming itself in the back of his head:

_More. More, Hux, please—_

He slips in a third finger. Searches in slow circles, pumping in and out. The hum spikes, louder, _more, more, give it to me—_

 

“No,” Hux says, sucking at one of his big ears, fingers spread and buried to the knuckle. “Ask if you want it.”

 

 _Hux,_ Ren pleads, eyes wide, imploring. Hux crooks his fingers, strokes up against him  _there;_ Ren's whole body ripples, goes taut. _Please,_ his hips buck up, sharply, into nonexistent friction. _I want it, I want—_

 

“You want what?” He hits that sweet spot again, rubs at it, slow, until Ren is keening, trembling, gasping. “Ask for it, Ren. Out loud, I know you can—”

 

“I want,” he shudders, words stilted, dragged out of him, “your cock. Please, please I want it— inside me, I want you inside me—”

 

Hux’s fingers slide out of Ren all at once, too fast and Ren whimpers; Hux presses frantic apologies against the corner of his mouth, drizzling the rest of the lube into his palm, slicking himself up. Pleasure runs white-hot fingers down his spine as he begins to push in, Ren’s begging blurring into broken sounds, Ren’s eyes dark pools, black holes, he’s losing himself in them, _stars, I’m losing—_

 

“Hux,” Ren gasps, legs falling open as he sinks to the hilt, “Hux, gods, oh gods, oh, Hux.”

 

Hux shudders out a breath, feeling Ren— _everywhere._ Palms spread flat over his back, thighs shaking against his waist, ass clenched tight around his cock, “Ren,” he manages, shakily, he’s forgotten how good it feels. That perfect heat. Packed around him. “You’re— ah, hells. Hells.”

 

“Move.” The word is small, choked out, Ren’s fingers are digging into the nape of his neck, nails cutting crescent-moons into his skin. “Please—”

 

Hux grips at Ren’s waist. Then pulls out slow, deliberate, giving him only the tip; Ren moans, dark hair fanning out over the pillow as Hux drives back into him, head falling back, white throat bared. “Hux,” he chants, “Hux, Hux, oh, it's, I can feel— you—”

 

“Look at you," Hux groans, "taking it— ah, so well, taking all of me, you good boy, sweet boy, _fuck_ —” He thrusts again, too shallow to satisfy; Ren’s eyes shudder shut and his chest heaves, fingers scrabbling at Hux’s back. “Eyes open,” Hux pants, “I want you— watching me. Watching what I’m doing to you.”

 

Ren obeys, or tries— he turns his head before long, heat burning across his cheeks. Hux tilts his face back toward him, one hand hard on his jaw. “Hux,” says Ren, choking on the rest of his words. “Hux.”

 

“Look at me,” says Hux, feeling an unexpected flare of— something. Burning hot, protective— he thinks at first it’s anger, pushing until it gives, cascading into words. “You’ve never had this, have you, from anyone but— me, I’m the only person who’s ever seen you like this. Who’s ever had you— spread out and worked open, I’m the only person who ever will, Kylo—”

 

Ren gazes up at him, eyes raw and wet and exposed; Hux rolls his hips harder, slamming against him, and Ren lets out a strangled cry with every thrust, trembling. “Please,” he babbles, his voice broken and high and shattered like Hux has never heard it, “I can’t, not much longer, _please_ —” His hips snap up and he wails, when Hux drags his palm over his cock, dripping with precome, reddened and achingly hard, pumping his fist in time with his thrusts, breath hot and damp ghosting over Ren’s lips—

 

 _Yes, yes, stars,_ he hears him whimper, never aware that he is in Hux’s head, always settling there as though he belongs and maybe he does, maybe he does, _what has he done to me, oh hells, I've never felt like this. Beautiful he’s beautiful he wants me and I can feel it, he wants me and oh— fuck, please, fuck yes I’m—_

 

“Close,” Ren cries aloud, the words in Hux’s head blurring and blinding, supernovae and violent, “I’m almost— don’t stop please, please oh, fuck, _Hux—”_

 

He arches up as he comes, spurting over Hux’s fingers, over his belly, gasping hoarse and loud, sobs cracking from his throat. The lights flicker and spark over their heads but Hux hardly notices, doesn’t _care_ , Ren is clenching and unclenching around him and he feels himself give, thrusts sloppy, fast, raw, his chest rising and falling raggedly. His hands leave Ren’s cock to fist in Ren’s hair, his nose presses against Ren’s cheek, his lips a fragment of a breath from Ren’s own.

 

Ren surges up to meet him, closing the final gap between them, and Hux comes with Ren’s tongue warm and wet against his own—

 

 _Love him, I love him, I didn’t know I could_ and he sobs, softly, muffled into Ren’s mouth, something splintering in his chest, because he can’t tell whether the thought is Ren’s—

 

Or his.

 

It doesn’t matter, he realizes, head dropping against Ren’s shoulder as his vision swims, and his breath sticks in his throat. It feels honest. It feels weighted and heavy and it aches, but it feels right. It feels—

 

“True,” Ren murmurs, kissing him deep, chasing his lips when he draws back for breath, chasing the aftershocks that ripple up his spine.

 

It feels real.

 

 

…

 

 

He wakes in the middle of the night, shivering despite the newly-installed heating. He’s shucked off his blankets in his sleep and he searches for them blearily at the foot of bed, mumbling apologies to Ren as he draws the covers up again.

 

But when he rolls over to curl against the Knight’s chest, he finds nothing but empty air.

 

The adjacent side of the bed is deserted.

 

Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Hux plants his feet on the floor, padding groggily through the room. The refresher light is cast down. The viewport shades have been raised. Beyond the window, moonlight streaks across deep blue ice-crusted walkways; another storm has begun to build above thick clouds, and cold, thin flakes drift down in promise.

 

Ren is curled up there, at the edge of the couch, watching the snow begin to fall.

 

When Hux says his name he looks up, pale in the dark. His eyes are red-rimmed, and bloodshot. “Sorry,” he croaks. “I woke you.”

 

“No—” He flinches, visibly, when Hux reaches for him. But he doesn’t protest when Hux clambers up onto his lap, draping tired arms around him, stroking through his hair with sleepy fingers. “What is it?” he whispers, nosing at Ren’s cheek; the Knight's eyes fall closed, as if in pain, and when they open again they are hollowed, haunted, shadowed. “Ren?”

 

His voice is rough, when he finds it. “It’s nothing,” he says. “A nightmare. That’s all.”

 

“Oh,” Hux kisses him, relief sluggish in his brain. “Kylo. Tell me?”

 

Ren shakes his head, mutely.

 

“Come back to bed, then.”

 

“No,” says Ren, strained. Frightened. “Please. I don’t want to sleep, just— stay. Here. With me, like this—”

Maybe he should argue, Hux thinks, drowsily; he’ll be sore in the morning, with a crick in his neck.

 

But Ren is blissfully warm. And Hux is so tired. And it’s easier, to settle down between the brace of Ren’s shoulders, and to let their legs tangle. To let his head tuck beneath Ren’s chin, to let Ren float one of the blankets from the bed and wrap Hux up in it, nudging his nose against Hux’s temple. The rise and fall of Ren’s chest lulls his eyes closed. The weight of Ren’s arms around him is familiar, intimate, like his own sort of shelter, a different world from the one past his door, past the storm building, silently, outside.

 

Ren’s heartbeat drums quietly in his ear. Ren's fingers card gently through his hair.

 

And just like that, Hux is asleep again.

  


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spoken with feeling: fuck

 

 

Starkiller’s rocket port mobility is primed and readied three weeks later, and Hux wakes up to a wide, soft mouth sucking at his ear.

 

“Mm,” he mumbles, stirring to swat Ren away— but he only presses closer, kissing at Hux’s jaw, his chin, teeth nipping at the tender skin of his neck. “Ren,” says Hux, a little more coherently, forcing his eyes open. “What’re you doing?”

 

“Want you in me,” says Ren. His voice is muffled against Hux’s throat.

 

“Wh— right now?” Hux rolls over, blearily, to check the time on his datapad; _0457_ blinks up at him heartlessly. “Shit. Need to be on deck in a half hour.”

 

Ren’s calf hooks over his thigh. A moment later he feels Ren’s cock, already stiff and leaking, rutting up against the cleft of his ass. “That’s a lot of time.”

 

“Oh, _hells_ ,” Hux turns his head, smothers his laughter into Ren’s open mouth, Ren’s breath hot and his tongue eager. “What have I done?” he sighs, without any real regret. “I’ve made a kriffing monster out of you, haven’t I?”

 

Ren moans, grinding against him. “Please,” he says— knowing Hux is weak in the face of his begging, knowing what that raw need in his voice does to him. “Please, I want—”

 

“Hush,” soothes Hux, unhooking Ren’s leg from around his waist, satisfied with the way Ren goes slack and pliant as he shifts up onto his knees, and searches for the lube on his bedside table. “All right, but we’ll have to be quick. And it’s only because you asked so nicely—”

 

“Hux,” says Ren. He’s wild-eyed, biting down hard on his lower lip, stroking himself as he watches Hux dig around in the drawer. “I already did that.”

 

Hux’s brow furrows, glancing back at him. “Did what?”

 

“I already—” Ren whines, fucking up into his own fist. “I pretended it was you, while you were asleep, I— put my fingers in myself—”

 

Heat rushes through Hux’s gut so fast he goes dizzy.

 

“Oh,” he breathes, _“Kylo,_ you clever, clever boy—” Ren whimpers, throws his head back when Hux touches him, replacing Ren’s hand over his dick with his own. “That’s so good,” Hux whispers, as Ren rolls his hips against his palm, making little desperate noises. “You’re always so good, do you know that? Come here, just like this—”

 

He settles Ren between his thighs. Ren turns his head, his big nose nuzzling into Hux’s cheek.

 

“How do you want it?” Hux asks, pumping his hand around Ren’s length, his other arm sliding around his waist. “You want to sit on my cock, Kylo? Take it like this?”

 

Ren jerks his head, nodding fast, reaching back to cling to Hux like he’s afraid he’ll fall away if he lets go. Hux slicks himself as hastily as he dares to and when he sinks into Ren, the curve of his ass meeting the cradle of Hux’s hips, they both go tense, toes curling for a long, shared breath before Ren starts to move.

 

He sways up hypnotically, holding himself on unsteady knees, rising and falling back onto Hux’s cock in a rough rhythm, punishingly slow, Hux’s sweet nothings shuddered hot on the back of his neck. “Ah,” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut when Ren takes him to the hilt, “you beautiful creature, oh. So tight, Kylo, and ready for me—”

 

He thrusts up as Ren sinks down again, quickened breath and skin on skin the only other sounds in the room, and Ren’s voice, _yes please fuck,_ for Hux, in Hux’s head alone, _yes._ Begging, _please. Fuck, Hux, Hux—_

 

“Right where you should be,” Hux says, panting against Ren’s shoulder, Ren’s thighs shaking. “In my head, that’s— where you belong, Kylo. Right where I want you, sweetheart, oh, _oh—_ ”

Ren comes with Hux’s hand pumping him dry; Hux comes with Ren still clenching and shuddering around him. They quiver, breathe, together. Tangled up. Like one body, and two souls.

 

 _Don’t go,_ says Ren, when they’ve stopped trembling. _Stay here. Stay inside of me._

 

He’s filthy. Slick with Ren’s come and his own sweat. He’ll be expected on deck within ten minutes at least and he has a full stack of engineering reports to go through, a dozen officers waiting to receive orders. But Hux collapses back onto the pillows, and drags Ren down with him, and says, “I will.”

_Forever._

Hux chuckles, and pushes a hand through Ren’s hair to scratch at his scalp. “That’s not very realistic, I’m afraid.”

_Neither are we._ Ren closes his eyes. _You were a child of the Empire. I was a son of the Republic. In another life— we could have been enemies._

“I am glad we are not,” Hux says, very softly.

Ren’s silence weighs heavy. When Hux tips his chin up to look at him, he finds his eyes open again, and shadowed. His fingers trace gentle, invisible lines around Hux’s neck, skimming the bob of his throat when he swallows reflexively. _I would never hurt you,_ says Ren, his thumb lingering over Hux’s pulse. _You know that._

 

Hux frowns. “Yes,” he says, “of course.”

Ren leans up, and kisses the beat of blood there. _Not ever. Not for anyone._

“I know, Ren.”

 

_Hux—_

 

“I know,” hushes Hux, and pets at his hair until he goes limp again, and the look in his eyes is no longer so haunted. “Shh, Kylo, I know.”

…

 

 

Ren falls asleep again, shortly after Hux leaves the bed, and Hux can’t bear to wake him before he leaves. The door hisses shut, instead, on his sleepy mutters, and Hux takes the well-worn path down to Starkiller’s ice-lined courtyard alone.

 

He knows that his officers are likely on the brink of sending out a search party to find him but he needs a dose of frigid air to cool the unnerved press of his lungs, and the heat of a cigarette— or two— to soothe the tremor in his fingers.

 

He needs to clear his head.

 

Ren’s nightmares have persisted. If he wasn’t absolutely certain of it before, he is sure of it now. Ren’s hand at his neck, Ren’s weak, vague pleas, _don’t go, stay here—_ stars, as if Hux would ever leave. It’s all the proof he needs, that the poison in Ren’s unconscious mind has spread.

 

The Knight refuses to tell Hux what it is that he sees, behind closed eyes. And even while Hux has tried to train himself to wake to the shifting mattress and half-empty bed, sometimes the only clues left over from his sleepless nights are the shadows under his eyes in the morning.

 

Or the skittish look on his face, or the way he clings, and kisses, when Hux makes an effort to leave— sex appears to work extraordinarily well, to distract him from the fear that follows him into the waking world. There have been countless mornings reminiscent of this one, in which Hux will wear him out, running his hands over him until he’s arching and moaning and thinking of nothing but the places where their bodies meet, and the sharp pleasure aching along his spine.

 

But it is hardly a viable solution. And Hux is growing tired of the distractions, and the pretending, and the not-knowing.

 

There are already too many secrets he has kept from Ren.

 

He is sickened at the thought that Ren may be keeping just as many secrets from him.

 

Starkiller’s cold air stings at his cheeks and burns at his eyes but he stays, looking out over the snowbanks and the storm clouds, the wind cutting through his clothes, whipping through his hair. He stays until he has smoked his way through three cigs. Until his lips have numbed and his ears have tinged blue.

 

Then he turns, and goes back to it all, feeling just as lost and trapped as he’d felt before he’d left.

 

 

…

 

 

When Snoke calls for him, he does not think much of it.

 

He has not, of course, forgotten that this scheme was not of his own making. No matter how long ago it seems, now, he could never forget that he had been led into this unwillingly, forcing down revulsion at what he had used to imagine lay behind Ren’s mask.

 

But he does not think much of his summons, not at first.

 

There is no reason for the Supreme Leader to be angry with him. Starkiller is so close to completion that Hux’s blood is singing. His technicians and engineers have worked around the clock. His officers learned to fall in line long ago.

 

With Ren—

 

Well.

 

He is only doing what he has been told.

 

And that is why, after they have worked their way through initial formalities, and he has given the base’s status update, Hux’s stomach very nearly churns into his throat when Snoke turns pensive, and curls crooked fingers over the armrests of his throne, and says, “As for my apprentice.”

 

He lets the phrase linger. In the long-stretched silence, Hux hears his heartbeat quicken, falter, redouble.

 

“You have done remarkably well,” says Snoke, at last. “Indeed, exactly as I have demanded.”

 

Hux bows shortly, his mouth dry. “I— thank you, Supreme Leader—”

 

“Your service in this matter, however, has run its course.”

 

It feels, suddenly, as though the room has tilted sideways. As though someone has reversed the course of gravity, cut off the regulated flow of oxygen.

 

“…no need for you to continue,” Snoke is saying, when the roar of blood in his ears subsides. “He has retained much from your exchange, and will no doubt learn strength in your absence.”

 

“If I may,” says Hux. Lightheaded. Reeling.

 

“There is nothing more to discuss. You are dismissed.”

 

“Supreme Leader, I simply—”

 

“You,” Snoke hisses, “are _dismissed,_ General.”

 

The holo cuts out.

 

And Hux is left alone to scrub away the sick sweat gathering along his brow, and calm the pounding of his heart.

 

 

…

 

 

2018: HUX >>  _Where are you at the moment?_

2025: HUX >>  _Ren?_

2032: HUX >>  _Ren, damn it, answer me_

2035: REN >>  _sorry_

2035: REN >>  _i was meditating_

2036: HUX >>  _Where?_

2036: HUX > _> The training rooms? _

2037: REN > _> no in your room its nicer here_

2038: REN >>  _how did your meeting go_

2038: REN > _> ???_

2039: REN > _> hux?_

2039: HUX >>  _It was fine_

2039: HUX >>  _Just stay in my quarters, all right? I’m headed there now_

2040: HUX >>  _We need to talk_

 

 

…

 

 

When Hux was a boy, and still residing on Arkanis, his father had insisted they move, routinely, from one safehouse to the next.

 

 _Routinely—_ a bitter joke. The decision to flee would always, without fail, come when Hux least expected it, accompanied with less than a day’s warning, their bags haphazardly packed, all non-essentials left behind, no matter how loved.

 

Bastard or not, Hux’s life was of great importance. He was his father’s only child in a world that was falling apart around them. The Emperor and his Sith had been slain. The Republic was on a blood-hunt for Empire sympathizers; Brendol’s instincts to preserve his line were instinctively correct.

 

Hux had learned the truth of this in some vague form, at a very tender age. But he had been young. And prone to useless attachment, and stupid decisions, and never seeing past the hours of the day in front of him.

 

And when an akk pup had tumbled into the gardens and straight into Hux’s path, Hux had thought of nothing but the happy sweetness in its orb-like eyes, and the immediate loyalty he was rewarded with when he scratched behind its scaly horns, and at the leathery skin of its warm belly.

 

It had been beautiful, he remembers, that day. A rare afternoon when the heavy rains had ceased and given way to sunlight and a gentle breeze. Hux had taken the pup down to the coast and thrown splintered driftwood for it to fetch. They had chased each other through the dewy meadows at the back of the house, and caught field mice, and he had watched, fascinated, when the pup tore into them, and devoured them whole.

 

He had been young, and stupid, and he had forgotten who he was and what was expected of him.

 

When his father had learned of the pup, he was rightly furious.

 

There was no room for such trivial things in the kind of life they had and what had Hux been thinking, taking on an akk? The bonds they formed with their keepers were for life, if not warded off in cold blood, _you should have known,_ his father had said, angry wrinkles deep in his forehead. _Now you’ll have to do this the hard way._

 

Hux had cried foolish tears. But an order from his father was not an order lightly refused, and so he had gone out into the gardens, cheeks wet, and gathered up the sharpest stones he could find.

 

The akk had chirped and scampered toward him, when he’d called for it. The first stone he threw hit the pup’s front leg, and perhaps the pup had thought it was a mistake, because it kept coming, tongue lolling out cheerfully. The second stone had nailed it straight between the eyes and then it had yelped, and skidded to a halt, looking up at Hux with its head tipped to the side.

 

Hux threw the third stone.

 

Still the pup came closer, more slowly, whimpering, not understanding; Hux screamed things, threw the fourth, the fifth stung it on the nose, and drew blood. By the last stone the pup had been crying in earnest, cowering, dragging its bruised body back into the bushes.

 

Bonds like that, Hux had learned, were not so easily broken.

 

But it could be done.

 

He is older, now. Not so foolish but fool enough still to have deluded himself into thinking he could’ve kept this, had this, had Ren. Self-preservation runs in his blood. If he does not end this thing here—

 

_Stupid, stupid. Should have known, should have— oh, gods._

_Did you really think he would let you keep him?_

 

The doors to his quarters slide open. Ren is sitting cross-legged on the floor at the foot of the bed, entirely motionless but for his eyes, shifting to trap Hux under his steady gaze as he crosses toward him.

 

 _Ren,_ Hux will say. _This cannot continue, Ren,_ _this kind of attachment is hardly meant for men like us. Anyone but us,_ he’ll say, and _Ren, listen to me, the things I’ve done. The things I’ve yet to do—_

 

“Come here,” murmurs Ren, words light and lilting with the kind of calm that surrounds him when he’s fallen into deep thought.

 

“Wait,” Hux swallows hard, pushing down old ghosts of wanting something he cannot have, “I’ve been thinking, and—”

 

There’s a tug at his greatcoat. Ren’s hand is outstretched, a lazy, invisible pressure strengthening at the small of Hux’s back, pushing gently until he stumbles forward, into Ren’s lap. “There,” says Ren, pleased with himself. “Better.”

 

“Ren—” His throat closes up. The Knight is loping his arms around Hux’s neck, burrowing his face into Hux’s collar. “I’ve been thinking,” says Hux again, panic straining his voice.

 

“Mm. Yes.” Ren kisses at the hollow of his throat, dips his tongue into the crook of his neck. His hot breath tickles at Hux’s skin. “Too much. Your mind is clouded.”

“I need to—”

 

“No, no more work. Meditate with me.”

 

“I can’t,” says Hux, frantically. His words catch, hands spread flat-out on Ren’s chest.

 

He can’t seem to find the strength to shove him back.

 

“It’s all right.” Ren cups his face between his palms, thumbs rubbing slow circles into his temples. “Hux. Let me.”

 

The sensation is faint at first, a caress, soothing and familiar. Reminiscent of the touch of sun on his skin, after a storm, or the warmth of a mug of caf in his hands on a cold ship-side morning.

 

 _Relax,_ whispers Ren. _Let me show you._

“Ren—” Hux’s fingers fix in the folds of Ren’s robes; Ren hums his reply, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. Immediately the feeling crescendos and Hux goes rigid, dread freezing him in place as Ren gathers up the mess of his mind, _he’ll see, he’s going to see—_

 

 _It’s all right,_ Ren repeats, his voice cascading like a rush of water through Hux’s head. _Open your eyes._

 

Hux does not even remember closing them.

 

It is not his quarters that he finds around him, when he obeys. The thick walls of Starkiller have melted away, shifting into deep, hazy forests of a planet that he does not recognize.

 

 _The Sanctuary Moon,_ says Ren. _Endor._

 

He is standing beside Hux, in this mind-place, pine needles and red autumn leaves crushed beneath their boots. His voice echoes slightly in the expanse of the clearing; sunlight streams down through the trees and casts dappled shadows over his skin.

Hux blinks, struggling to orient himself. _This is— what you always see?_

_Not always,_ Ren replies. _Sometimes it is a planet of my own imagination. Sometimes a place I’ve never been. I’ve thought—_ he looks away for a moment, abashed, and when he speaks again his voice is edged with something shy. _I’ve often thought about bringing you here. And showing you—_

A blur of movement, out of the corner of Hux’s eye. Then an ache, a pull in his chest when he realizes—there is a boy, sitting not far from where they stand, his legs tucked underneath him, dirt smudged across the awkward jut of his nose.

 

He’s pale-skinned, tired shadows beneath his eyes and freckles and moles blotting his narrow face. His mouth is wide, and set firmly in concentration, his hair moppish, tousled. The tips of enormous ears peek out from the curls.

 

 _His name is Ben,_ Ren says.

 

There is a toy model in front of the boy, the frame of a miniature ship. When he curls his fingers into his palms, his little body going tense, the ship wobbles.

 

Then rises, trembling, into the air.

 

_He was used to being alone._ _By himself. He rarely wanted to be. But that didn’t matter._

Hux watches the boy’s face gather storm clouds, his brows drawn together in childish impatience when the ship lurches sideways and loses height. _Why?_

_His parents stayed away. And the other children. They couldn’t— couldn’t look him in the eye._

_Why,_ asks Hux, again. And softly, _Ren—_

_I frightened them,_ Ren says.

 

The ship drops to the ground and the boy makes a noise, hateful, tearful. In a burst of furious energy the toy is flung against a tree; it shatters and by the time the pieces have hit the ground his temper is already draining, falling away all at once, leaving him swaying on his knees, leaving him ashen and quiet.

                                                 

And then there is no more anger. Only the heave of his narrow chest and the set of his eyes, fixed on the sky.

 

_I frightened everyone._

 

Hux answers, _You wouldn’t have frightened me._

 

The pull in his chest swells to something painful when Ren looks at him, relief and longing crashing together. It is hopeless, the idea that they ever would have found each other here. That era has passed, and this is exactly what his father had tried so fiercely to dissuade him from, _there_ _is no room for trivial things,_ _ridiculous sentiment—_

 

The forest crumbles. Reality crashes back down around them.

 

“Hux,” says Ren.

 

His eyes are wet.

 

Hux drops every stone he had hoped to throw.

 

He can’t. Can’t do it and he knows it’s going to cost him but he can’t, not like this, with Ren’s mouth trembling and Ren’s relief spilling into him like it is his own, _I’m sorry,_ Hux thinks, his hands shaking on the back of Ren’s neck, _I wish it hadn’t been Snoke to find you, I wish it had been me but you were so far away, Ren, light-years away—_

_I didn’t know you needed me. How could I have known?_

He leans forward with his palms flat against Ren’s chest. Pushes him down until his hair is pillowed beneath his head, kisses him hot-blooded and frantic, the way they both need it after being— so alone, Hux thinks. Both of them, for so many years, Hux _wants_ this. However hopeless it is. Wants it like he’s never wanted anything. They rut together like wild things, whimpers and pleas crawling up out of their chests until they spill over one another, shuddering and moaning, Ren gasping in his head, Hux’s name and _thank you._ Kissing him with his eyes shut, and his voice shattered, _thank you, thank you._

 

His face stays buried in Hux’s shoulder. His arms are tight around Hux’s waist.

 

Hux knows what his grief looks like, by now.

 

He strokes back his hair, tangled and damp with sweat, tucks the unruly strands behind one of his big ears. He kisses that ear, kisses the line of his jaw, the corner of his mouth, his lips, “Kylo,” he says, against them, and in his thoughts, hoping Ren will hear, _here, I’m here._

"Hux," says Ren, that voice that still belongs to the little boy with sad eyes, _don’t go—_

“Shh,” Hux murmurs, running his free palm along Ren’s side in slow, sweeping strokes. “What is it?”

 

_Do you think Snoke knows?_

 

Hux flinches, involuntarily; Ren is quiet, and pale, waiting for his answer, dark eyes through darker lashes.

 

“About what,” Hux says.

 

_About us._

 

“Does it matter?”

 

Ren makes a stricken noise. _He is my Master._

 

“And?” Hux says, hating where this will lead, feeling it like carbonite clogging his throat.

 

 _What—_ Ren starts, _what if. He is giving me this, allowing us to— allowing us. And when he decides we are of no value, or of lesser value, together—_

Hux’s chest tightens, possession and denial flooding past his ribs.

 

 _What if,_ says Ren, words small, even in his head, _he takes you away from me._

 

“You would let him?”

 

_I wouldn’t be strong enough to stop him._

 

“That is what he believes,” Hux says, quietly. “And what he wants you to believe, too, Kylo.”

 

He is no Force-wielder. He cannot begin to untangle the sudden, striking mess of emotion that rolls from Ren’s broad, bulky frame, from the complex tangle of his mind; he wouldn’t know where to start if he could. But he sees the way his face changes. The light in his eyes, the unspeakable joy that softens his features, as Hux’s implications dawn on him, _Oh,_ he says, his voice shuddering with hope, _Hux, do you really think—_

 

Something flickers. Ren’s eyes snap shut.

 

The light dies.

 

_We shouldn’t speak of this._

 

“All right,” whispers Hux, rolling Ren onto his back, pressing his face up against the base of his throat. He kisses the sweat there, then the joint of his shoulder, thinking _I chose this, I chose him,_ thinking _I didn’t want this in the beginning but I do now,_ thinking _no one could undo this, us, what we’ve done to each other, not the Supreme Leader, not anyone._ “All right, I’m sorry, we won’t.”

 

 

…

 

 

He stays awake, long after Ren has fallen asleep again. Running his thumb over the parted slack of his lips, watching the way his eyelids flutter, caught in unconsciousness. Studying him like he may never have the chance to again.

 

As far as he knows, he may not.

 

By tomorrow the Supreme Leader will be certain of Hux’s failure to comply. And he will be demoted for the negligence, surely. He could lose everything. The Finalizer, Starkiller.

 

Perhaps he’ll—

 

Oh, what, negotiate? Attempt to strike a deal with the very being he answers to? Snoke holds every card in this game of theirs, and knows it, undoubtedly.

 

For the first time in his entire life, Hux has been driven into a corner.

 

He’ll have to beg him.

 

He has no other plan.

 

The summons is in his inbox before he has put in a full hour on deck, Starkiller’s sun hardly three-quarters of the way over the horizon. Hux does his best to wrap up the maintenance report his engineers have presented, leaves Mitaka a handful of orders and quotas— and makes a firm effort not to think of them as his last.

 

The walk to the holo-chamber is mechanical. He hesitates only once, a moment of weakness as he stands in front of the chamber door, throat thickening when he remembers the way that he had left Ren this morning, sleeping deeply, sprawled naked across his sheets, one open-palmed hand resting on Hux’s pillow.

 

Hux will beg.

 

He has no say in anything, after that.

 

The doors slide open. He steps inside. Snoke has taken his throne already; his twisted, alien face bears no clear expression. He beckons Hux forward with one huge, gnarled hand, when the lock has sealed behind him, and Hux bows, deeply, before he dares to take another step. “Supreme Leader,” he starts—

 

And that is as far as Snoke allows him.

 

“Silence.” The word is cold. “I am less than pleased with the performance you have given, upon my orders. Your disobedience is an indescribable disappointment.”

 

Hux opens his mouth, a thousand pleas gathering at the tip of his tongue.

 

“However,” Snoke says, and his voice evens, slightly. “You have been laboring under a grave misconception. I do not intend to cause you harm, General. I can assure you that your position is secure; you are of value. Furthermore—”

 

Hux’s pulse thrums in his ears, frantic and unsteady.

 

“You do not, I think, fully understand your place in this design. A pity, considering your clever mind.” The Supreme Leader’s clawed, paper-skinned fingers fold together, steeple. “Attachment, passion— these are indeed valuable assets, to an apprentice of the Dark. But stronger than attachment is loss, betrayal. More powerful than passion is anger.”

 

Snoke inclines his head, a mockery of gratitude, of thanks. “You have played your part, General, and played it well. True power is what my apprentice must learn, now.”

 

The doors behind them hiss open once again. Hux twists to see Ren illuminated in the entrance, helmet tucked beneath his arm, looking puzzled. “Master,” he says, striding toward the throne, his eyes darting from Hux to Snoke. “I received your message. What do you wish of—”

 

“You must not think of this,” the Supreme Leader says, softly, black eyes gleaming, “as a punishment.”

 

He stretches out one long, thin arm, and from the center of his palm rises a holo-vid, the recording frozen in time and flickering blue, bright in the dark hollow of the chamber.

 

The image—

 

The vid is of Hux, himself.

 

“No,” Hux blurts, voice spiking high, reaching toward Ren without thinking, “Ren—”

 

He isn’t sure what he would have said, if he had been given the chance. _Ren, wait? Ren, don’t listen?_ Or _please listen, listen to me,_ _Ren—_

 

The holo-vid unfreezes from its fixed frame, and Hux’s warning is drowned out by the static-filtered sound, amplified tenfold.

 

 _“He is unreasonable,”_ he hears himself say, what feels like years ago, another lifetime, a different man, _“crude-mannered— Master of his Knights or not, he is a terror to my crew and gives no thought to the Order’s safety, or sanity—”_

 

Ren’s shoulders go slack. His mask slips from its place under his arm, hanging listlessly from his fingertips. He makes a sound, splintered, soft, and moves like a man wounded, staggering forward, eyes raised wide, and unblinking.

 

_“He has taken to prying into my mind and cannot seem to restrain himself from meddling in my affairs—”_

 

The helmet drops to the floor with a sound like a shot. The heel of Ren’s hand is pressed to his chest, as though his ribs have been kicked in, his voice cracks when he speaks, the echoes rebounding against the chamber’s wide, black walls. “Please,” he says, “Master. No more.”

 

Snoke gives him no answer.

 

The holo plays on.

 

“ _I cannot move through my own ship without him trailing after me like a dog,”_ spits Hux’s faded image, lip curled and teeth bared, _“interfering with my schedule, wasting my time—”_

“No more,” says Ren.

 

_“—should not be required to tolerate this, him—”_

_“NO MORE,”_ he roars, eyes going wild. The chamber floor trembles under his lack of control, thin-rivered cracks splintering the base of Snoke’s throne; low-cast lights of the chamber spark, flaring until they blind, then snuff out entirely.

 

In the palm of Snoke’s hand, the holo-vid flickers.

 

And loops.

 

The next thing Hux is aware of is the lock of an iron-cold grip, closing around his throat. His body seizes up, dragged into mid-air, toes skidding along the chamber walkway. _Ren,_ he tries to say, fighting for air, seeing white-grey static and red fury and _Kylo, Kylo, please—_

The air in his lungs stales. Trickles from his nose as he gasps for breath, Ren’s grip crushing his windpipe like an invisible noose until his eyes blur over, rolling up into the back of his head.

 

“That’s enough.” Snoke’s crooning voice is galaxies away, muffled past the screaming panic in Hux’s head. “Release him, child.”

The grip tightens.

 

Then goes slack.

 

Hux drops like a stone, head cracking against the floor. Air burns like fire down his throat, in his lungs, sticky heat wetting the back of his skull. The last thing he sees, before darkness overtakes him, is the projection of Snoke’s twisted, knotted hand, reaching toward Ren’s trembling, huddled form—

 

And Ren’s face, raised obediently to Snoke’s throne.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

**TERMINAL: KYLO REN**

 

MESSAGES — DRAFTS // UNSENT (5)

 

 

0006: REN >> _i shouldve killed u_

 

0006: REN >> _the supreme leader forbade it but_

 

0020: REN >> _if u dont stop coming by my rooms i’ll choke the life from u for good i shouldve_

 

0025: REN >> _shouldve known that u would never_

 

0032: REN >> _not me no one could ever_

 

 

...

 

 

**TERMINAL: GENERAL ARMITAGE HUX**

 

MESSAGES — DRAFTS // UNSENT (3)

 

 

0054: HUX >> _Ren, I’m_

 

0115: HUX >> _I’m sorry I couldn't_

 

0148: HUX >> _Please. Please_

 

 

...

 

 

**TERMINAL: KYLO REN**

 

MESSAGES — DRAFTS // UNSENT (4)

 

 

0337: REN >> _this is for my own good u lied and its good bc itll make me stronger im going to be stronger now supreme leader said so rlly i should be thanking you_

 

0341: REN >> _fuck you._ _i told you things i’ve never told anyone you don’t deserve to know those things about me i_

 

0342: REN >> _hate you i hate you_

 

0359: REN >> _i want to rip every thought from your skull_

 

 

...

 

 

**TERMINAL: GENERAL ARMITAGE HUX**

 

MESSAGES — DRAFTS // UNSENT (5)

 

 

0501: HUX >> _If you would just_

 

0536: HUX >> _If you’d open the door, Ren, if you’d listen to me you would know that I_

 

0543: HUX >> _Can’t you read it, in my mind? The way it changed?_

 

0557: HUX >> _It’s true, it didn’t mean anything at first but you changed me, Kylo. You changed everything and_

 

0604: HUX >> _You changed everything_

 

 

...

 

 

**TERMINAL: KYLO REN**

 

MESSAGES — DRAFTS // UNSENT (1)

 

 

0604: REN >> _i'm not letting you in and if you come by again i swear you’ll regret it_

 

 

...

 

 

**TERMINAL: GENERAL ARMITAGE HUX**

 

MESSAGES — DRAFTS // UNSENT (4)

 

 

0605: HUX >> _Read my mind, you coward_

 

0611: HUX >> _You think you know what goes on in my head? You have no idea, you don’t know, you’re afraid the way you’ve always been you gutless child open the kriffing door_

 

0616: HUX >> _Please_

 

0620: HUX >> _No one has ever known me the way you do_

 

 

...

 

 

**TERMINAL: KYLO REN**

 

MESSAGES — DRAFTS // UNSENT (4)

 

 

1045: REN >> _where are you what are you doing are you thinking about me_

 

1046: REN >> _he’s right you’re a sickness. you’ve always made me weak. you were a test and i failed but this will make me stronger_

 

1238: REN >> _i’m going to be stronger_

 

1457: REN >> _i’m going to be stronger_

 

 

...

 

 

**TERMINAL: GENERAL ARMITAGE HUX**

 

MESSAGES — DRAFTS // UNSENT (7)

 

 

1729: HUX >> _Let me talk to you. I’ll tell you everything, how much I never wanted to need you and how much I do, you can have every thought. Every last one. Take them, they’re yours_

 

1732: HUX >> _I couldn’t have said no, Ren!_

 

1732: HUX >> _Your Master could very well have killed me_

 

1734: HUX >> _He could have killed me! And then what would you have done?_

 

1822: HUX >> _What would you have done?_

 

1845: HUX >> _Would it have even mattered? Did you just need a hand down your pants and a cock up your ass could it have been anyone or_

 

1907: HUX >> _Would you have just fixed yourself to someone else?_

 

 

...

 

 

**TERMINAL: KYLO REN**

 

MESSAGES — DRAFTS // UNSENT (4)

 

 

2036: REN >> _i wanted you the first time i saw you hux the very first time you looked at me and i knew you weren’t afraid and i’d never wanted anybody before but i needed to have you i don’t care how it sounds_

 

2037: REN >> _i wanted you_

 

2123: REN >> _i wanted you i want you i still_

 

2259: REN >> _i thought you wanted me too_

 

 

...

 

 

**TERMINAL: GENERAL ARMITAGE HUX**

 

MESSAGES — DRAFTS // UNSENT (3)

 

 

2314: HUX >> _Hells_

 

2338: HUX >> _It could have been anyone, couldn’t it_

 

2345: HUX >> _You never needed me, did you_

 

 

...

 

 

**TERMINAL: KYLO REN**

 

MESSAGES: SENT (1)

 

 

0001: REN >> _i wish i’d never met you_

 

 

...

 

 

**TERMINAL: GENERAL ARMITAGE HUX**

 

MESSAGES: SENT (1)

 

 

0001: HUX >> _Set your personal feelings aside, Ren. We have work to do._

 

 

...

 

 

DRAFTS SELECTED: ALL

 

 

PERMANENTLY DELETE SELECTED FILES: Y / N

 

 

DRAFTS DELETED

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fuck canon welcome to my gay angst hell

 

Hux had thought that being back on the Finalizer would be a welcome change. A homecoming, of sorts, or the closest thing to it that he can imagine. And there is a good amount of relief that he finds in the familiarity of it all, the sleek hallways and bad caf, the cold comfort of being surrounded, always, by an endless field of stars.

 

Phasma had greeted him warmly, when he’d stepped off of the shuttle. His bridge staff had actually stood and applauded when he’d taken his post— as they should have. He has done the unimaginable, in creating the most powerful weapon in history. The most influential instrument of his generation, of his father’s generation.

 

But still, the ache in his chest remains.

 

It eats at him. A constant reminder of the loss he has sustained along the way, it rises in his throat and he chokes it down again, white-knuckling the grip on his data pad, gritting his teeth against it. There is work to do. The days that follow will dictate the play of power across the next decade. He does not have time to wallow in weak-hearted regret, or to dream of things that he will never have.

 

He finds himself chastising himself with the same words he had always meant to cut Ren with. _It was never meant for you, that kind of sweetness. Not for men like you, ruthless and hard._

 

He will take planets apart, and their people with them. Ren has no place in those plans, nor does the gentleness he had deluded himself into thinking he could have.

 

“General? _Hux—”_

 

He is pulled from his thoughts by Phasma’s steady rapport, her hand on his shoulder. Gods know how long she’s been standing there; he shakes himself, mentally, clearing his throat, “Yes,” he says. “Are your men ready?”

 

They’d come out of hyperspace not a half hour ago, hanging back outside of Jakku’s atmosphere. It’s still early, for the little planetside borough that Ren has made into his target; their horizon is still cloaked entirely in shadow. The villagers won’t see the First Order’s troops descending to meet them. They won’t pick the shuttles up on their scanners, either; Hux’s engineers have made sure of that.

 

He doesn’t entirely understand the purpose of this detour. Ren’s explanation, delivered via transmission— not face-to-face, never face-to-face, anymore— had been almost whimsical. Whispers and stories and a mysterious tip concerning the whereabouts of the old Jedi legend, Luke Skywalker— those were his so-called _leads._

 

Hux had denied the request, of course. _You can’t believe every cryptic tip that comes your way, no matter how badly you crave its authenticity._

 

Ren’s reply, immediate, _I have sensed that it is true._

 

 _Forgive me,_ Hux had written back, _if I doubt your skill in that particular area of expertise._ Stupidly, digging the knife deeper: _Discerning fact from fiction doesn’t seem to be a strength of yours, lately._

They hadn’t made much progress as far as communication went, after that. But it hadn’t mattered what Hux said or thought, in the end; Snoke had ordered him to bend to Ren’s wishes on the matter and so they had gone, following a measly grapevine rumor to a distant, unimportant planet on the Outer Rim. Another planet the Republic has deemed unimportant enough to sweep aside, living off luck and the scraps tossed their way.

 

“They’re ready,” Phasma reports. “We’ll reach the village in under an hour.” She pauses, helmet tucked beneath her arm, one brow arched. “You won’t see the shuttle off?”

 

“No,” says Hux, aiming for dismissive, knowing he most likely comes off as curt. “I will not.”

 

“Lord Ren—”

 

“Has not asked for me.”

 

“This mission,” says Phasma, frowning. “It has him on edge.”

 

“A rather _urgent_ mission, if I remember correctly,” Hux snaps. “I’d hate to think you’d be holding them up for this.”

 

“Hux,” she says, exasperation bleeding into her voice. “I’m the closest thing you have to a—”

 

“Oh, gods, if you say _friend—”_

 

“Confidant,” she finishes, slowly, brows arching higher. “I know you. Whether you like it or not.”

 

She does know him, that’s true enough.

 

But not the way that he had.

 

She has never stripped him raw, seen him bare-hearted and vulnerable. It was Ren who’d cracked him open, and cradled the mess he’d found there like it was something precious, Ren who had given Hux the most fragile part of himself, willingly, the part no one else had ever dared to touch; Ren, soft-voiced and gentle, Ren whimpering, and distraught—

 

 

 _“Hux,”_ says Phasma, a half-second away from snapping gloved fingers in front of his face.

 

“I want— updates,” Hux replies, feeling nauseous, squaring his shoulders, bracing his hands behind his back. “Immediately after you’ve secured the village. Your squad is waiting, Captain.”

 

She doesn’t argue, although her mouth goes thin. She secures the helmet over her head, pushing past him without another word; he turns back to his crew, all of whom are studiously pretending that they are very busy, and have heard nothing of the exchange.

 

The shuttle engines fire up on his command. From the bridge monitor he watches the troopers march into the belly of their ships, armor white-polished and gleaming, rows and rows of them waiting for his orders— and beside them, Ren sweeping onto his craft on his separate accord. Needing no one’s permission but his own, and his Master’s.

 

The caf in Hux’s mouth sticks to the back of his throat when he swallows.

 

“First shuttle away,” says Mitaka, softly, from behind his terminal. His eyes flicker up from his screen to Hux’s face and back again, a poor imitation of subtlety, and badly disguised pity. The caf churns in Hux’s empty stomach, sick disgust mingling with weariness and self-loathing, and thickening on his tongue with the sour taste of bile.

He excuses himself when the second shuttle passes through the bay doors. He shuts himself in his office, chest aching, head thick. And then, pausing a moment to breathe deep, and wipe his sweaty palms on his thighs, he knocks back the rest of his caf, pops three antistress capsules, and promptly throws them up again.

 

 

…

 

 

He hadn’t put the tracker chip in Ren’s belt himself.

 

He had ordered it done, and sent someone expendable. Some nobody LT, in case things went sour, and they happened to find themselves frozen at the other end of Ren’s fury. Surprisingly— or surprising enough, considering the rate things have been going for him, recently— the little mission had gone off without a hitch. As far as he knows, Ren is unaware of the chip.

 

And unaware, consequently, of Hux— watching him.

 

He knows it’s sick. Or pathetic, at the very least. It’s not all the time, it’s not— _constant._ But he couldn’t stand it, the distance, his bed achingly empty after having the heat of him there day after night after day and in the space-dark hours of the Finalizer’s fabricated nights, it’s like an itch. Throwing back his covers and searching for his datapad— _no,_ of course he hasn’t been sleeping, and neither Phasma’s concern nor Mitaka’s anxious worry will change that. It’s all that seems to help, anymore, finding that little dot that marks Ren’s position, the screen painfully bright in the black of his room. Tracing it with bruise-tired eyes as it moves, pacing back and forth. Tiny circles, back and forth, wearing down the same path through his quarters.

 

He watches that dot now, hovering motionless in the spans of Snoke’s holo-chamber; Hux has already been dismissed, has already born the brute force of the Supreme Leader’s disapproval. They’ve lost the pilot. And one of their own. _On edge,_ Phasma had said, about Ren, as if this map Ren is searching for, this supposed trail to a man who might as well have come out of a child’s bedtime story, was significant enough to unsettle the balance of everything they know to be true.

 

Perhaps, Hux thinks, his heart sinking, he should not have doubted him so completely.

 

But it’s too late for that. He won’t waste time second-guessing himself when the Order’s future hangs in the balance— and there’s no time for reflection, anyhow. Ren’s tracker has sprung to life again, the dot blinking rapidly out into the Finalizer’s halls, headed Hux’s way, and quickly. Hux has hardly slipped the datapad into his coat before Ren is coming around the corner in a tornado of black robes and wrathful fury, face hidden behind his horrid helmet.

 

“General,” he snarls, “You _said—”_

“I know what I said,” Hux snaps, shutting him up. “I couldn’t have possibly predicted that we would be betrayed.”

 

Ren slows, tensed, as though he is struggling to keep something in— then sweeps past him. Hux trots on his heels, feeling ridiculous while trying his best to keep pace with Ren’s long strides. “We cannot fail again,” the Knight says at last, voice harsh. “My Master will not allow it. We go after the droid. Immediately. And I want it intact.”

 

“Your _Master,”_ he knows Ren can hear the thinly-veiled derision in his voice, but he can’t bother to stifle it, “was explicit. Capture the droid if we can, but destroy it if we must—”

 

“How capable are your soldiers?” Ren taunts. “They’re obviously skilled at committing high treason—”

 

“My men are exceptionally trained!”

 

“Then they should have no problem retrieving the droid,” Ren spits, turning on his heel and surging toward him, forcing Hux to skid to a stop before they collide. “Unharmed.”

 

And he’s _close_ and it’s _infuriating,_ the way it had been before Hux had wanted more from him than his easy silence. Infuriating and intoxicating and he feels drunk, suddenly, with their closeness, with the sharp smell of ozone still clinging to his robes, “Careful, Ren,” he hears himself say, even as he finds himself tipping, leaning toward him, imperceptible inches, “that your _personal_ interests not interfere with orders from Leader—”

 

Ren makes a noise, and it echoes, inside of Hux’s head. Meant to be a word, perhaps, but it comes out something animal, wounded, livid, like Hux has slipped a shard of glass between his ribs; Ren snarls from behind his mask and slams his mental walls down again, but it’s too late. Hux catches it, the raw edges of his hate, clawing out of his chest, and the grief that follows. Feeling it like his own. Feeling it like the gaze of that little dark-eyed boy on Endor, like sharp stones stinging, drawing blood.

 

“I want that droid,” Ren hisses, his mask cruel and cold and void all of the tenderness he has come to expect, and will never see again. “For your sake. I suggest you get it.”

 

 

…

 

 

They lose the kriffing droid, of course.

 

He knows Ren most likely expects him to show face, to admit the loss in person. He decides, out of spite— and, whispers a smaller part of him, shame— that he won’t give him the satisfaction, and sends Mitaka instead.

 

He’s halfway through a cigarette when the call comes in from Thanisson:

 

Mitaka is in the medical ward.

 

“Oh, kriffing _hell—”_

_“He’ll be all right, sir,”_ says Thanisson, scrambling to placate him from the other end of the comm. _“Shaken, mostly. But—”_

“But _what!?”_

Ren is still running rampant.

 

Hux cuts the call and whips out his datapad. The tracker has Ren in one of the nearest control rooms, it’s a ten-minute walk from his station.

 

He tosses the cig, and makes it there in five.

 

There are static-strung screams rebounding down the hallway, red light spilling out into the hallway from the frame of the open door. Ren’s lightsaber is ignited and gripped tight in his hand when Hux braces himself in the entry, and as he watches the Knight brings it down against the console in front of him— and swings again, and again, and again.

 

Sparks fly, loose-cut wires swinging, _“REN!”_ Hux roars, striding forward.

 

Ren freezes.

 

Whirls, and in one fluid motion the saber is at Hux’s throat, blazing.

 

Ren’s chest heaves. From beneath the mask his voice trembles out, short of breath and unsteady in a barely suppressed storm. “They let it get away,” says Ren. _“You—_ let them get away.”

 

“We have agents everywhere,” says Hux, tamping down his own outrage, eyes trained carefully on Ren’s mask, and not on the deadly weapon wavering beneath his chin. “We’ll find them.”

 

Ren fumbles, one hand. Past the blood-flicker of the saber’s glow Hux can’t see, and doesn’t dare to move; he hears something hit the floor and then Ren straightens. Bare-headed.

 

His eyes are wet, and wild.

 

“You aren’t afraid,” he says. His expression is contorted, caught bewildered between pain and fury, “You’re _still—_ not afraid of me.”

 

“Give me a reason to be,” Hux answers, lip curling, leaning into the heat of the saber, the sparking edge a hair’s breadth away—

 

Ren’s pupils go fat.

 

The saber deactivates. Thuds, as it’s dropped alongside the mask.

 

And he’s biting into Hux’s mouth.

 

Hux goes rigid _—_  and groans, as Ren’s tongue slides against his, one big hand pressing hard at Hux’s throat. He forces Hux back, driving him into the hot-welted console behind him; Hux fists his hands in his hair in return, pulling up and twisting tight until he hears Ren whine, feels Ren wince.

 

The jagged edges of the ruined panel tear at his coat, digging painfully into his back, but he doesn’t care. He’s reckless with relief, with hunger, and Ren is flushed and half-crazed, grinding against him fully clothed; Hux rubs up against him frantically, turning his head to breathe half-manic laughter into his cowl, dragging him closer, tipping back to slide his knees up against Ren’s hips, his legs falling open for him. _Yes,_ he tries to tell Ren, fumbling to find the brightness of his mind that he’s so badly missed, _oh hells, yes, I need, I’ve wanted— this, this is everything, Ren, everything—_

 

Ren’s hands make quick work of his belt and Hux moans high, feeling Ren’s fingers wrap around his dick. “Oh, gods,” Ren pants, “I can’t—” And even as his hips buck into the flat of Hux’s own palm, _No, no, I’m not allowed, we shouldn’t—_

 

But there’s no turning back from this, not now. They’re already rutting forward to find that blissful, sweet friction, fists pumping clumsy but fast and good, nothing to slick the way but spit, so _good._ Ren shudders up from the base of his spine with a sound that’s almost shocked, jerked out of him like he hadn’t expected it, like he’d forgotten how this worked, how it felt. His come spills hot over Hux’s fist and just the sight of him, eyes clamped shut, teeth bit into his thick bottom lip, is enough to tip Hux over the edge of his own orgasm, muffling his cries into Ren’s shoulder. Riding out the tremors with Ren’s arms slung halfway around him, panting when he’s been wrung dry.

 

“Kylo,” he gasps, and means something more than his name, trembling voice burning like tears in his throat, burning like the words he throws out in blind, mindless ecstasy, _please, this, let me have this. Give yourself this, don’t you want it, don’t you know I want it, I want you—_

 

Ren stiffens.

 

Hux feels it in his gut, sick and hollow. And it’s a bolt shot past his ribs when Ren shoves him away, scowling. He tucks his softening cock back into his robes. His eyes shutter, shadowed.

 

“Wait,” pleads Hux, reaching for him, still sprawled out over the console and filthy, pants unbuttoned and belt undone, Ren’s come smeared over his chest, mixed with his own. “Kylo—”

 

Ren pauses only to call his lightsaber back to its place at his hip, and his helmet back beneath his arm. He lets the door seal shut behind him, between them.

 

And leaves Hux’s mind empty and silent, but for the quiet desperation of his own thoughts.

 

 

…

 

 

That, Hux thinks, is the very last thing that manages to go close to halfway right for the next twenty-four hours.

 

They do find the droid, again. And the trooper-turned-traitor, and a girl, some desert scavenger. Ren takes five squads to D’Qar to ensure their capture and by the time Hux has managed to slink back to his rooms and clean himself up, the Order has gained the upper hand, and managed to snag two hostages, as well as the traitor.

 

And in the time it takes him to change into a clean uniform, they’ve lost their foothold, and everything but the scavenger girl—

 

Who slips out of Ren’s grasp the moment he brings her aboard.

 

But there’s no _time—_ Hux is on the shuttle to Starkiller, praying to every god he’s never believed in that Ren will handle it. _You were supposed to be stronger without me,_ he thinks, helplessly, knowing as he steps onto the snow-dusted landing platform that Ren could never hear him, not so far away. _Aren’t you stronger, without me?_

 

He hardly remembers the speech.

 

It blurs, in a rush of adrenaline and burned-out nerves and caf-tremored hands. He isn’t sure if he’s recited it correctly. His throat is raw, when it’s over. The troopers salute, one white-black, swimming movement, dizzying in its magnitude; then the flip of a switch, and everything is red, blood-red, hate-red, red like Ren’s saber, cutting across his vision.

 

And then the Republic is gone.

 

And Hux can’t feel anything but the stunned consolation that it’s done, done, over.

 

And exhaustion.

 

And when the planet begins to crumble beneath his feet, gods, he is barely surprised. _Falling apart,_ he thinks, numbly, as Mitaka makes frightened, panicked pleas for him to hurry, and ushers him into the escape shuttle, _like Ren, like me._

 

Doomed from the start.

 

None of the officers they’ve scraped together, nor any of the stormtroopers, seem to know where to find the Knight. No one had seen him, after he'd fled the base. Hux panics for a moment before he feels his data pad tucked into his coat, he grips it with sweat-slippery palms, keys in his access code with trembling fingers. Ren's little tracker dot is motionless.

 

The coordinates are passed to the pilot; they land with the ground splitting beneath them, rivulet-thin cracks painting jagged molten splinters through the snow. A few of the troopers pull his body aboard. He’s limp, and bloody. They don’t know where to put him. “Here,” blurts Hux, gesturing, some of his old impatience seeping through the shock. “Come on.”

 

“Sir—”

 

“Here, right here.”

 

“He needs medial attention,” says someone.

 

“Gauze. And bacta—”

 

“Well, _give_ him to me, I’ll do it. _Here—”_ Here, here with Hux, cradled in Hux’s lap with Hux’s fingers in his hair. That’s where he belongs, where Hux needs him. His weight is good and solid against Hux’s thigh, it doesn’t matter that he’s paler than Hux has ever seen him. He stirs, eyes fluttering open, delirious but open, and Hux exhales, hoarse, in the back of his throat.

 

 _Sweet boy,_ he thinks. Or says it aloud, he isn’t sure which, Ren’s blood is sticky under his fingers, smearing when Hux tapes over his brow. _Sweet boy, beautiful boy. I have you._

“Hux,” slurs Ren. Hoarse. Eyes still unseeing, glazed with pain. _Hux._

“Never leaving you again,” mumbles Hux, kissing Ren’s wrist, the backs of his fingers. “Kriffing— fuck, I’m never—” Relief crushes him like a flood, when the realization falls into place, _Never. Never, I’ll do anything._

_True,_ Ren would say, if he could.

 

“True,” Hux whispers, in his place, “it’s true, I swear.”

 

They rendezvous with the Finalizer soon enough. But that, there— it was the kind of moment you hold your breath for, one of the troopers will say later, to his bunkmate, with the look on Hux’s face frozen in his mind. Ren bleeding out, past the meager supply of bacta on board. Hux nosing at his pulse, stroking through his hair.

 

The rest of the shuttle crew staring. Caught in a stock-still sort of reverie.

 

That kind of moment, the one you can’t look away from. The one you think should go on forever. Watching them, the trooper will say, it was so strange _—_ _for men like them? We all stared._

 

But Hux hadn’t seemed to notice.

 

Or maybe _—_ maybe he just didn’t care.

 

 

…

 

 

Hux wakes to tears, hot on his skin.

 

It takes him a minute, to realize: he’s fallen asleep in the medbay. His body feels ten different kinds of sore. His head is tucked into the crook of one arm, the other stretched out alongside the Ren's cot. His spine aches, when he uncurls it; his neck is stiff, when he lifts his head.

 

Ren’s eyes are wide and dark and bloodshot, meeting his.

 

“Kriff,” blurts Hux, scrambling up; his back throbs painfully, shoulders tightening as he straightens. “Ren—” He reaches for the bandages wrapped across his skull and temple, thinking perhaps he’s hurt himself; Ren shakes him off, whimpering. “Ren,” says Hux, again. “What is it?”

 

“It’s—” He sucks in a breath. “Ruined.”

 

“Starkiller,” Hux says, throat going tight. “Yes, I know.”

 

But Ren shakes his head, throat jerking; fresh tears leak out over his cheeks. “Not that, it’s not— I. I was supposed to be better. Stronger. The Supreme Leader said I’d be—”

 

He doubles over, muffling soft cries into his hands, the sounds broken. Hux’s hand wraps around his wrist, instinctively, pulling his fingers away from his gauze-bloodied face.

 

“Oh, gods,” says Ren, his voice cracking. “When I’m— the only time I ever—”

 

“What? Ren—”

 

 _I only ever feel strong with you,_ says Ren.

 

And out loud, “He’ll kill me.”

 

“He won’t.”

 

“There are others. Other Knights. You know that. I’ll be—” Ren shudders, crying openly, “I’ve failed him. When you bring me to him—”

 

“I won't.”

 

Ren blinks, wretched. “What—”

 

“I won't,” says Hux, again. “I'm not going to _—_  take you to Snoke.”

 

“Then where—” His voice is bleak. “Where are we going?”

 

“Ren,” begins Hux, heart lurching into his throat. Ren could kill him here, for this. Fix his fingers around his neck and end it for good, this time. “Kylo,” he says, mouth dry, fumbling for his hand. “I’m not giving you back to him.”

 

Ren’s eyes flicker furiously over his face. Searching. “I don’t— understand.”

 

“He can’t have you,” Hux says. “He can’t— I want the galaxy and I want you with me, there’s not room for him, Kylo _—_ ”

 

“I don’t understand,” Ren repeats. Mouth trembling, weaker; the light dawning in his eyes, stronger. 

 

“Yes,” says Hux, rising up until he’s leaning over him, cupping his face in his hands. "Yes, you do.”

 

When he kisses Ren he tastes blood, tastes bacta. Tastes the tears still running down Ren’s chin, dripping from his nose, feels his breath, hot and shaky. Feels the sound Ren makes buzz soft against his tongue, quiet, splintered, and it’s like shedding a skin.

 

Like the first thing, the first real, true thing that they have.

 

Ren’s bandages are spotty with blood and his body is weak with fatigue but he wraps his arms around Hux. Guides him in until Hux is crawling up next to him, pulling him closer and touching him careful, fingers tracing old scars and new, _You’re shaking,_ says Ren, kissing him deep. _You’re afraid._

 

“Not of you,” says Hux, against his lips. “Never of you.”

 

 _Before,_ Ren says, clutching him closer, words stilted, like they hurt, even unspoken. _You lied._

 

“Never again,” Hux tells him, “not if I can help it.”

 

 _You love me,_  says Ren. He turns his face into Hux’s neck, and Hux feels his tears, and his smile, and Ren tastes his heartbeat,  _You do._

 

“Hells,” says Hux. "You knew that."

 

But he thinks, _Yes._

Thinks, _Always._

 

And Ren hears him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> here i am on [tumblr](http://bygoneboy.tumblr.com)


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